I was moaning and panting and making a fool of myself but it was wonderful. The fact that I was also trying to stop myself from rushing headfirst into the incredibly fine orgasm my body was working up to didn't seem to matter much. At that moment I was vividly alive, much more so than I had ever been during sex -- normal sex, that is. At the moment I'm talking about, the sexual act I was engaged in would hardly be called normal. But I didn't care. It was incredible even I hadn't wanted it and still didn't.
Does this sound a little strange? Well, consider that in addition to heading towards an orgasm I didn't want, having sex with a man I didn't even know, I was also vividly aware of the tight ropes wrapped around my body holding my arms firmly secure behind my back. And that my bottom was stinging and burning from a fresh spanking I had not wanted but nevertheless had asked this man to give me!
I know it doesn't make sense. But it was real. I, Nancy Blake, an innocent, very conservative young girl of twenty- one with very little sexual experience, had sought out this man, asked him to strip me naked, bind me with ropes that I had even brought with me, spank my bottom until both of us were panting with passion, and then to screw me as hard and long as he could. And all the time I did those things, I was telling myself not to. Part of me wanted to call an immediate halt, but the rest was moving right along like a freight train. It was almost as if I were merely an observer going along for the ride and with no power to change the script one tiny bit.
When these things first started happening to me, I thought I was going crazy -- you know, schizophrenia, multiple personalities or something like that. I mean, how does a girl explain that suddenly she doing things that she would never in a million years do, and can't stop herself. But I'm not crazy. Not a bit. Just haunted.
It's a really weird story about how I came to be in that bachelor pad, tied up and being screwed by a man I had met only half an hour before when I knocked on his door. Hell, I didn't even know his name. What a picture I must have made, my big breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips upward and my pumping my hips against him. And my long blonde hair flying up and down and lashing my breasts as I contorted with passion. I was kneeling over him on his bed, his hips between my legs and his rod deep inside my pussy. My arms were tied behind my back and many winding of additional rope held them tight against my body. My eyes were closed and I was biting my lip to keep from loudly crying out the passion flooding over my body.
The climax came for both of us at the same time, wonderful waves of heat and flashing lights and nerves tingling -- totally unlike anything else in the world.
Later, after both of us had come down, I lay at his side, his arm around my shoulders and his hand resting against the ropes holding my elbows together behind me. He asked if I would like to be untied and I remember hearing my voice telling him that I would not like that, to leave me bound for the rest of the night. I heard myself promising that if he would do that for me, I would use my mouth on his penis in the morning to wake him up.
As I lay along side him in the dark, physically satisfied and contented, but mentally disgusted with the strange power that compelled me to such incredibly wanton sexual acts, I thought about how it all began.
CHAPTER ONE - HAVE YOU A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS?
It was the day I bought my new car. It was a 380SL Mercedes Benz convertible, fire engine red and looking all sleek and sexy and exciting. How exciting and sexy I had no idea on that sunny spring day when the car became mine.
I had always wanted such a car, the prestige, the pride of ownership of such a precision-made German automobile. And there is the feeling of whizzing down the highway with my long blonde hair streaming out behind. It had taken me two years of saving to get enough money to have this dream car, but I really wanted it.
I would love to say that it was brand new, smelling that new car smell and every tiny part shining in the sunlight. But fact is that I'm not rich and the odometer informed me that for seventy-five thousand miles this car had belonged to someone else. But I didn't care. It ran beautifully, looked beautiful, and was everything I had ever wanted.
I should have been a little suspicious at the low price. Those cars are not cheap, even used. But it ran smoothly, didn't seem to have any problems, and how could I refuse? Mrs. Sterling was the name of the woman who sold it to me. One would think that she should have shown some emotion at parting with such a beautiful car but her face showed no emotion, happy or otherwise. In fact, I got the impression that when she first saw me she was ready to tell me that the car had been sold or something. But she sighed and handed me the key, telling me to drive it as I wished. Then she went back into her plain house.
I drove it and fell in love. It was powerful, smooth and seemed to almost anticipate my every wish. It was all I had dreamed it would be and some more. I thanked my wisdom for getting up very early on Saturday and being the first person to come looking at the car. I parked it and almost rushed up to her door with check book in hand. I wanted it.
Mrs. Sterling was waiting with the papers in hand, already signed off. Without even a consideration of offering a lower price as the beginning of bargaining, I wrote out a check for the full amount she asked and handed it to her.
I remember her last words to me as she handed me the extra keys. "I hope you'll survive," she said. Then she turned her back on me and the car, and never looked back. I guessed that she meant I should be careful because of its high performance. But I didn't care. Taking only enough time to lower the fabric top into it's well, I hopped into my new car and drove happily away.
I took a small trip that day, what girl wouldn't? As I drove along the coast, warm spring sun on my face and the wind tugging at my hair, I was happy. Let all those other poor people on the road look and envy me. I was something special -- I had THE CAR.
The next day I took another trip, this time down to San Diego, loving the wind in my hair and the looks of beach boys whenever I stopped for a light. I drove it to my work each day of the next week, proudly showing it off to anyone I could comer in the parking lot.
My first hint of something not quite right came the next Saturday.
I had driven to the store for my weekly shopping, taking a very long away around, and had no plans to go anywhere that night. But after dinner I began feeling restless. Just staying home to watch another movie just didn't sound good. I felt myself being drawn to the garage and the car. I made some popcorn and tried to watch a movie on TV but found myself unable to even recall the movie's name after fifteen minutes. I went to the window and looked out. From my apartment, I could see a comer of the car in my parking slot. It was there and everything was alright but still I couldn't get the car out of my mind.
Then it began. Without really thinking about it, I found myself in my bedroom, changing my clothes. Now I'm not a clothes horse and don't buy my clothing to look sexy. But I found myself standing in front of the mirror, looking at my totally naked body in a way I had never done before. What I saw was good, a fine young body with good muscle tone, large breasts with good shape and firmness, and long, shapely legs. My golden hair hung to the middle of my back and was real as the light curls of my pubic patch attested.
I had never considered myself a sexy woman -- pretty yes, and with a good figure, but not sexy. Yet as I stood there, I felt more sexy than I had ever in my life. It was a warmth in my loins, but that was only part. More it was a mental attitude. I simply felt sexy.
I had one pair of lacy black panties that I had purchased to go with a black dress I had worn once and then put away because it was too tight and showed off too much of my legs. That night I took the black panties and put them on. Then I put on a pair of pantyhose, followed by that black dress. It was suppose to be a party dress, but I hardly ever went to parties, and had been embarrassed the only time I ever wore it because of how low it was cut in front and how high the slit on the side came up. It was black velvet with a slit showing one leg to mid-thigh. I remembered how the eyes of every man at that party had gone straight down the front of that dress to ogle the tops of my breasts. I was so embarrassed that I went home early.
But as I put the dress on that Saturday night, I didn't feel embarrassment. As I smoothed the material over my hips, I felt totally different. It was a sexy dress and made me look and feel like a real woman. I stood before the mirror and ran my hands down my hips, feeling the smooth velvet against the bare skin of my middle. It was then that I realized I had put the dress on without a bra -- something I had never done since I began wearing bras.
But instead of immediately taking the dress off, I stood there, admiring the way my breasts looked with black velvet pushing them up. Not that my breasts needed much uplift, they were quite firm and stood out without help. But that dress... So much of the tops of my breasts were visible. But that was good. I picked up a small purse and left the apartment.
You should understand that this was not me. I had promised myself that I would never be seen in public again with such a dress, yet here I was walking from my apartment, wearing the dress and without a bra, yet. I remember hearing the swishing sound of my nyloned legs against each other as I got into my beautiful little sports car. What an exciting sound that is.
I drove aimlessly for a while until I spotted a department store that was still open that Saturday night. I parked and went inside, not sure why but following a feeling. For one thing, that would allow me to show off how I looked in that dress in public. Inside, I found myself in the shoe department, telling a male teenage clerk that I wanted a pair of those black patent leather high heels in size seven. Then I sat down and crossed my legs. When he brought back the shoes, he almost dropped the box. Like he had never seen a woman with a slit in her dress that went all the way up to the tops of her thighs before.
I slipped on both high heels and stood up. I should have been wobbly on them, the heels alone were at least four inches tall, maybe four and a half inches, and I was simply not used to wearing heels. But I didn't wobble. Instead I walked up to a mirror and enjoyed the way those heels made my legs look much more sexy. Something about the way the muscles are different when a girl's toes are pointed, but very nice.
I could feel the teenager's eyes on my legs and bottom as I walked, and liked the feeling that it gave me to know that men found me desirable. Not that I was attracted to the kid at all, but it was still nice. I leaned forward on the counter while he ran up my purchase and let him have a good view of a fine pair of breasts. He made a five dollar mistake in counting my change but I didn't correct him. It was a small price for him to pay for such a nice show.
I walked out with the heels on and dumped my comfortable, sensible flats in the trash can.
I wondered why I had done that, and why I could walk so easily in heels far higher than any I had ever tried. But it somehow felt right and I didn't feel like fighting it. I drove along the main street, slowly with no particular place to go.
Half an hour later I was pulling into the parking lot of the Sand Pebbles Restaurant, an expensive eating place on the beach, and one which my limited funds would normally never allow me to visit. I walked in the front door and turned left just like I knew where I was going.
The lounge was dimly lit and had soft music from a live combo in one comer. I made my way for the bar to perch on one of those stools, just like I did this every Saturday night. As I slid one nyloned leg over the other and allowed the dress to show me off, I told the barkeeper that I would have a Manhattan. While I sat there waiting for my drink, I was wondering inside what the hell I was doing. I never went into bars, never showed myself off in public like this, and didn't even know what a Manhattan was. What was happening to me?
Have you ever felt you had to do something but didn't now why? That was what was happening to me. The really odd part was that I didn't feel like there was anything wrong. In a funny way I knew what I was doing was unusual but it also seemed right. That's the best way I can describe the feeling.
I sipped the drink and found it strong but pleasant. I looked around. There were dark booths around a small dance floor but no one was dancing. A few of the booths might have been occupied, it was hard to tell unless someone moved in the very dim light. Cozy and intimate, they call such places. The booths were taken by couples, the bar held three other drinkers, all men.
I sort of giggled inside and wondered what I would say if one of those men tried to pick me up. This was definitely not the usual habits of Nancy Blake. Almost immediately one of the men approached me, so I told myself that I was about to find out what I would do.
"May I buy you a drink?" he asked smoothly.
"I have one. But you can sit down," I heard myself saying.
He was on the wrong side of thirty, probably edging very close to the big four oh. Not bad looking in his business suit and receding hairline, but certainly not the kind of man I would ever consider dating.
He sat down, placing his drink on the smooth bar surface. He was trying so hard to smile and look handsome. I was asking myself what was going on. I didn't want to sit there with this man who was almost twice my age trying to hit on me.
"I couldn't help noticing how beautiful you are," he began. Truthful enough, but hardly a new line. "My name's Karl. What's yours?"
I turned a bit towards him, shifting my hips just a bit, knowing that the move pulled my dress up to expose another inch of thigh. I saw his eyes flash down then reluctantly return to my face. "I'm Nancy. Do you know how to treat a woman?"
Why the hell did I say that?
He smiled. "I know how to show a girl a good time," he came out with. The guy was almost licking his chops and drooling all over the bar.
"I asked if you knew how to treat a woman. The way a woman should be treated."
He frowned. The conversation was not going quite the way he expected. I could say the same thing. It was obvious sex was on his mind, but he didn't know how to answer me. Finally he settled for, "Girls don't complain." Kind of weak.
"What would you do with me?" I asked. Then I wondered if the puzzlement I was feeling showed on my face. Probably not. It was almost as if someone else were in control of my body.
He actually licked his lips and I could see wheels twirling inside his head. So this babe wants to come right out and talk about it, he was thinking. "I'm a very good at pleasing a woman," is what he said.
"You are." It sounded like I didn't believe it. I didn't.
"Why don't we go to a place I know and I'll show you. You'll love it." He was really shoveling it with both hands.
He "knew a place." Probable a cheap motel room because there was a wife waiting at home.
"Do you have a pair of handcuffs?" I asked.
"Ah... no," he stumbled out with. "But we can... improvise." Fast recovery but not cigar.
"If a man doesn't own a pair of handcuffs, then he doesn't know how to treat a woman," I said casually over a sip of that Manhattan.
He was silent for a few moments as he tried to come to grips with this strange conversation. So was I. "I could get a pair," he offered lamely, knowing it was a lie. He had no idea where to buy a pair of handcuffs and we both knew it. I sipped my drink and knew that there was a smug little smile tugging at the comers of my mouth.
The man made a couple attempts at getting a sentence out but failed. I ignored him. Finally he sighed and went away.
Which left me with some time to think about this strange course of events. Handcuffs? Why had I spoken those words? I'd never even touched a pair of handcuffs on in my life and certainly didn't want to try on a pair. If I wasn't careful, my mouth was going to get me into a lot of trouble. A lot.
Five minutes later the next man came up to make his attempt. I allowed him to sit down after his polite inquire if he could. From the smell of it, this one was drinking rum and cola. That was different, I thought. Then I wondered how I knew that most men wouldn't drink rum and cola in a bar.
"From the look on his face, I'd say that you really shot down that other guy," he said, but he was smiling politely as he said it.
"And you're wondering why?"
"I am curious. Yes, I would like to know why he struck out. Might save me from making the same mistake."
I looked at him carefully. He was about thirty, tall and handsome in a rugged way. He looked trim in that sports coat, and his face was reasonably suntanned. I liked him immediately but was surprised at the way my body reacted to him. My loins were heating up, and I simply don't do that kind of stuff. I'm not that kind of girl, as the saying goes.
"He didn't have a pair of handcuffs," I heard myself saying.
He smiled. "Is that all?" he said. Then he reached down and opened his coat slightly, just enough for me to see his belt. On one side was a leather pouch about the same and shape of a pair of handcuffs with metal edges showing under the flat. On the other side was an automatic in a holster.
"You have a badge to go alone with those?" I asked calmly. The part of my mind that was still little miss innocent was hollering loudly to get out of there.
He showed me the badge. He was an detective from the police department of a nearby town.
"You looking for pros?" I asked, then wondered what I meant by that.
"No. Off duty. You selling?"
"No. Never. I'm just looking for a man who knows how to handle a woman." I smiled at him, just a small smile.
He returned the smile with genuine warmth behind it. There was some kind of communication going on between us and I wasn't sure just what it was. Didn't "pro" mean "professional," as in a prostitute? Was he asking me if I was a prostitute? Part of me was shocked, part accepted it as a compliment. A compliment?!
"My place or yours?" he asked. But he wasn't being funny, he was asking if I would like to find out if he really did know how to handle a woman.
"No wife at home?" I asked.
"No wife. She found that she didn't like being married to a cop."
"No wife. Then we'll go to your place." I downed the rest of my drink in one gulp and wondered at the fiery sensation as it slid down. I'd never done anything like that before. Nor anything like was I was about to do.
I got up and headed for the door without looking to see if he were following. In the parking lot I headed towards my shiny red sports car. "I'll follow you," I called over my shoulder. Then I turned to see which car he headed towards.
I followed him a few miles to his place, an average apartment, not too unlike mine own. I guessed policemen didn't get paid too much. Inside was simple but clean and neat. He took off his coat and then the gun in its holster. He put it on top of the refrigerator. Then he took off the handcuff case and handed it to me. "Would you like a drink," he asked.
"Whatever you're having," I told him. The handcuffs were heavy in my hand. "Rum and cola is fine." I sat down on the couch. "Why do you put the gun on top of the refrigerator?"
He looked up at the weapon sitting there. "Children," he said after a second's pause. "Always up it up high out of the reach of children."
"You have children?" I asked.
"Two. They're with my wife." He came into the front room with a drink in each hand. "But I'd rather talk about you. What's your name?"
I told him. He told me that he was Ken Tolber. Then he asked me, "Those handcuffs good enough for you?"
I took the offered drink and set it down on the coffee table. Then I unsnapped the handcuff case and took them out. They were shinning steel and very solid looking. I worked the swinging part of one of them, pushing it into the other half until it clicked. Then I pushed it all the way through until it came out the other side. I had never seen a pair of handcuffs up close, but somehow they weren't strange. But what was really weird was that they excited me.
I put them down and took a sip of the rum and cola. It tasted good. I think he made mine with less rum than his own. I picked up the handcuffs again. Then I did what was right.
I stood up and put my hands behind my back. Without having to think how to do it, I closed one cuff around my left wrist then the other around my right. In a few seconds both of my wrists were locked in steel circles behind my back. Then I tightened down each cuff a couple more clicks until I could feel the steel pressing hard into my flesh all around each wrist. It was a good and very exciting feeling. I turned towards my policeman and simply stood there, hands secured behind my back and showing off my body in a dress I should have been too embarrassed to wear in my own bedroom.
"They'll do," I said. Then I smiled softly at him.
I wish I could convey to you how right this all seemed while at the same time I was telling myself that I was crazy to be doing things like this. The amazing part was that I didn't feel crazy, and knew that I wasn't loosing my mind. It was simply right to act like a wanton, loose woman. And apparently a kinky one, to judge from the fact that I was standing in a revealing dress before a man who's name I had heard only a minute before, locked in his handcuffs.
He stood, the smile faded from his face and a more serious look replacing it. Gently he took my shoulders in his hands and softly kissed me on the lips. It was a very gentle kiss but it sent tingles racing down my spine. There was a real warmth growing in my loins. I wanted to kiss him back long and hard, but he held me at arms' length.
"One thing," he said. "No rough stuff. I don't go in for hurting women. If that's what you want, I'll unlock the cuffs and you can go back to that bar."
How can I tell you of the thrill of being handcuffed with his strong hands touching my flesh? How very helpless and wonderful it made me feel? How much I was aware of that strong male body only inches away from mine. Maybe I can't. But all I felt right then was like a small, helpless girl before this man, and it was good. I leaned forward and said in a husky voice I hardly recognized, "Kiss me."
He kissed me and this time allowed me to press my body against his. I let my body do the talking after that, and just sat back to enjoy. Not that I really sat back, just mentally, I mean. What was going to happen was right and I wanted it. At least my body did. And part of my mind, too.
After some stand up groping, mostly on his part, my hands were locked behind me, he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. It would have been nice had he thrown me on the bed and raped me right then hard and long. But he set me on my feet and gently removed my dress, taking care not to tear it. I kicked off the high heels. He pulled down my pantyhose and the black lace panties.
I was trembling from desire and other emotions I had never felt before in my life. And they were more intense that I had ever felt before. I guess I should tell you that I was no virgin. But I was far from a loose woman. To be exact, I had done IT with three boys, the first time at the age of seventeen. It had been hurried and messy and I hadn't gotten much pleasure out of it. The second and third times was when I was nineteen. They had been better but I had only partly reached any kind of orgasm when the boy finished and lost interest. I had always suspected that there was more to sex but didn't really know.
But that night I found out that sex was not what I had always thought it was. Ken left the handcuffs on me, probably somehow sensing how much I wanted them left on. It was the way this game was played and he understood. As he had said, he wasn't into the rough stuff. He was gentle, considerate and made damned sure that I had a good orgasm, the first in my life. He sucked on my nipples and used his hand to make sure that my pussy was excited and juicy before he entered me. And he made sure that he didn't come early and spoil the fun.
And, lordy, was it fun! It was sex more intense than any I had experience, and something more. The extra was the wonderful way I felt helpless. I could not ignore those tight steel cuffs cutting into the flesh of my wrists, nor the way my wrists could not separate by more than a few inches. Constantly I felt the helplessness, even when it blended into the most incredible orgasm of my young life. I really believe it was one of the reasons that orgasm was so intense.
Later I lay beside him and was content. I still didn't understand what had happened to me, but the end results was good and that was enough for the moment. The half of my mind that had been pushing me along and the half that had been dragging its heels were in agreement. It had been good.
Still later he unlocked the handcuffs and put them on the night stand. In the middle of the night I awoke and put them back on. In the morning we made love again and he made no mention of the fact that the handcuffs were back on me.
It would be nice to say that they lived happily ever after, the rugged policeman and the submissive little secretary who had discovered a joy in sex that she never knew was possible. But it didn't work that way. Only in fairy tales. In real life, the force that had driven me into the whole incredible series of events reasserted itself and I gave him a phone number not really mine. Then I drove away, knowing inside that I would not be visiting him again. It was not logical but it was what I felt inside. I didn't regret it, it was -- like everything else that had happened that night -- simply right.
I drove home and spent most of Sunday afternoon putting a coating of wax on my sports car and buffing it to a high polish.
CHAPTER TWO - SECOND TIME
The next week went by pretty normally. I drove to work, worked and drove home. No urges to do strange things. I thought about what I had done many times that week, but the best guess I could come up with was that I had simply built up too great a hormone balance and my body had driven to do things I normally wouldn't. A girl who hadn't had sex in almost two years can get pretty frustrated I told myself. That didn't make much sense but it was the best I could come up with. And everything was back to normal. The black velvet dress was back in the closet, those high heels resting under the dress, away from my normal shoes. There was a nagging feeling that perhaps I have been living my life wrong if I could be experiencing such wonderfully intense orgasms, but the mental guardian of my virtue was back in control again and I had no desire to run out and get screwed again.
All went well until Saturday afternoon. I was walking through the shopping mall, just window shopping, something I often did. A girl can't stay cooped up in her apartment all weekend, you know. Well, I happen by this swim suit store and froze in my tracks. There, in the window, was the tiniest string bikini I had ever seen. It couldn't have weighed even half an ounce. The tiny bit of material that covered each nipple was only a couple square inches. And I do mean that it covered only the nipples, not the breasts. And the material was very silky and thin. On the store dummy there were no nipples to show through but I was sure that on a real girl every bit of her nipples would show right through. The material would sort of mold onto her flesh. The triangular piece that covered the pubic area was not much bigger than those tiny pieces over each nipple. The part that went around the hips and up the bottom in back was only strings. I couldn't imagine a swimsuit that covered any less and could still be called a swimsuit.
The whole effect was to make a girl look more naked than if she wore nothing. I had to compare this tiny thing to the bathing suit I had back in my dresser. You could have made a hundred of these out of the material in my conservative one piece suit. Maybe two hundred.
Suddenly I was inside the store asking if they had one of those black string bikinis in the window in my size. A minute later I was walking out with a tiny package tucked into my purse.
Strange happenings, indeed. I had no idea why I had bought it, nor where I would ever wear it. Maybe on my wedding night, whenever that might be, for my husband. Certainly not to the beach.
The afternoon was only half gone. My 380SL purred all the way back to my apartment. Once inside I took that package out of my purse. As I held the bit of paper in my hand, I wanted to laugh, it was so incredible that I would ever think of wearing such a thing. But, since I had bought it, I told myself that I might as well try it on.
It fit, I had to give it that. And it looked incredibly sexy on me. The girl in the mirror would turn heads on the beach, no question about that. I lifted myself up on toes and did a half turn. Very nice, I heard myself saying. Very nice, indeed.
You can probably guess what happened next. I found myself putting my pair of high heels on -- they matched, both were shiny black -- and taking my keys and driver's license in my hand. Then I left the apartment.
I could not believe that I was walking out to my car dressed in next to nothing! Fortunately no one saw me and quickly my bare bottom was on the genuine leather seat and my 380SL was purring as it headed towards the beach. It found a parking place only a block from the sand and surf. I marched towards a scene that could only end in extreme embarrassment.
The beach was crowded for it was a warm afternoon. Not as crowded as the summer would bring, but there were a fair amount of people. Of both sexes. Slowly I walked out along a sidewalk, my high heels clicking against the concrete. Then I turned and walked across the sand towards one of the rocky breakwaters. Every quarter mile along the beach the city had piled up a line of huge boulders stretching a couple hundred feet into the water. I think that was to break up the rip tides or something. Mostly fishermen used them like piers. But that was in the evenings and mornings, this was still too early for most fishermen.
Walking in sand with high heels takes a great deal of skill. I know. Yet I managed not only to keep my balance, but to also put on a pretty good show of wiggling my ass from side to side. I told myself that it was just the way I had to walk with those heels in the sand, that I was not showing off. But either way, the effect was the same. Heads turned. Tongue hung out and drool dropped to the sand. The teenage boys and young men openly stared and smiled after they recovered from the first shock. The young girls looked and frowned. This was unfair competition, they seemed to say.
I reached the rocks and found one with a bit of flatness on top. There I planted my bare bottom and arranged my legs in a graceful display. I leaned back on my hands, thrusting my breasts out to the sun. I couldn't have posed better had I been a fashion model. I was showing off and, oddly, didn't mind it.
When I first headed towards the beach I was sure that I would be blushing from head to toe, and in that outfit every square inch of blush would be seen. But once I was in front of those sun worshippers I didn't feel embarrassment at all. Pride, that's what I felt. What I had to show was every bit as good or better than anything they had. This was incredible! Wondering if that sex the week before had loosen some nuts in my brain, I sat there on the rock and displayed everything I had for all to see. And inside I was telling them to eat their hearts out. I felt sexy and knew I looked sexy.
Actually, the sun was warm and felt pretty good. Getting a good tan had never been a big thing for me, but right then I knew that my untanned skin would look better after a few days in the sun. And I didn't really have to worry about an all-over tan with the bikini. There wouldn't be much in the way of tan lines.
I also knew that in addition to attracting attention, I would pull the male hunks that hang out at the beach like a magnet. I had been to the beach a few times and knew that there was a crowd of good looking and well built men who hung out there, working on their tans and flexing their muscles at anything female. It was a youth courting ritual. When the sun went down, each successful hunk would haul off his catch of the day for some dancing between the sheets. The beach was a great sexual hunting ground.
And into that hunting ground came I, about as naked as you can be without being arrested, a choice target. I could feel male radars homing in on me. And, to be honest, I wasn't too sure about not being arrested. Just because I bought the swimsuit in a store doesn't mean that it's legal, does it?
I hadn't been enjoying the warm sun too long when the first predator struck.
"Hello, babe! I haven't seen you here before."
I opened one eye and beheld a six foot, two inch pile of muscles standing over me. "Can't you do better than that?" I asked.
"Huh?"
"The line. Why can't a man come up with something different to say now and then." I smiled sweetly at the Greek god. Inside I was wondering if that line about knowing how to handle a girl was going to come out of my mouth. "My name is Nancy," I told him. "And if you want to stand a chance with me, you'll have to do better than that."
"Huh? Like what, babe?"
"For one thing, you can stop calling me 'babe.' That's degrading. And then you can tell me why I should even keep taking to you."
He looked puzzled at that but was up to the occasion. "Cause I'm the bitchinest guy on the whole beach."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Huh? I'm the best, that's what it means."
"The best at what?"
"Everything."
"Can you play chess? Quote Shakespeare? Paint a seascape? Write a book?"
"Huh? What you talking about?" Then, suddenly a light bulb went on in his head. "I'll tell you what I'm best at -- I'm the greatest in bed."
"Probably at sleeping. Look, beach boy, if you had me, a piece of fried chicken, a loaf of French bread, two pillows, and some rope all in a motel room, what would you do?"
"Well...." I could see the wheels slowly turning, trying to made some sense out of a conversations not going as they usually did when he hit on a skin-flashing "babe."
"We could make love," he offered with what I'm sure he thought was a sincere smile but looked more like a leer. 'Then we could eat."
I sighed. "Wrong. Get lost."
"Well, what am I suppose to do with a loaf of French bread? Oh, you don't mean...."
"No, I don't. You're just not my type. Now, how about moving? You're blocking the sun."
He frowned but did move away. And I had lied, he hadn't been blocking the sun at all.
A couple other beach bums came up but I sent them away after demonstrating that when a male body contains too much muscle, there's no room for brains. Most of them seem to think that all they had to do was pose a bit, flex some muscles and hint that you were the lucky one. Except for one guy who, having undoubtedly witnessed his friends doing the crash-and-burn, simply walked up and asked, "Wanta fuck?" I gave him the slow look over from head to toe, then shot him down. "Does your handler know that you've gotten out of the cage?"
It's really great being a beautiful female, you can say anything to a guy and get away with it. Had I been a male, most of the things I said would have gotten me punched in the nose.
The muscle building bunch finally gave up on me, which, to be honest, was a bit of a surprise to me. Not that they gave up in the face of constant rejection, but that I was rejecting them. I had assumed that my strange actions were the results of an over production of hormones making for a much increased sex drive. But here I was, turning down some pretty nice physical specimens. Real hunks, as they say. What the hell was my hormone-driven body thinking?
I stood up to leave, but something wanted me to stay there. And on the rocks, which didn't make much sense since the sand was much softer on my bottom. Idly I walked out to the end of the rocks. The ocean was making hissing noises as the waves caressed the rocks, and the gentle afternoon breeze caressed my skin and teased my hair. For a while I stood on the last large rock and looked out over the ocean, enjoying the view and wondering what would come next. I had reached a stage where I didn't fight these strange compulsions coming over me. I simply went along with them. So far all that had resulted was a pleasant night with a police officer and my exposing my body to a bunch of beach bums who saw plenty of nearly naked female bodies every day. I was a bit puzzled about the handcuffs bit, but at least that hadn't been painful or harmful. In fact, it had been rather exciting to have my hands locked behind my back.
I heard a noise behind me and turned to find a fisherman setting down a pole and a sack. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, somewhere in his forties, a little grey hair at the temples, and with a face tanned from time out in the sun. I watched as he sat down next to the sack and took up the pole. From the sack he took out a small piece of newspaper wrapped round some small frozen fish. He cut a piece of the fish off and put it on the hook. Then he cast out the line and settled down to wait. Fisherman have so much patience.
It was then that the strange urges kicked in. I noticed a small piece of rope sticking out of the sack, and went to sit down next to that sack. "Hello," I said. He turned to look at me, an open and honest appraisal of my fine figure and face. He was not leering like the beach bums did, but his smile included a healthy dose of honest sexual interest, along with puzzlement at why one of the sun worshippers would come over and talk with him. "Hi," he offered.
I looked out at the ocean for a minute. He did the same. "Catch much here?" I asked.
"No. Don't really care about catching. I just like to fish."
That didn't sound so stupid. I reached over and toyed with my fingertips on the rope. It was more like thick twine than rope but I found myself attracted to it. "What's this for?"
"To string fish," he replied. "If I were to catch any."
"Every catch any girls?" I asked sweetly. Oh, boy! Here it goes again, I told myself. Then I waited to see what this hormone-driven strangeness was going to get me into this time.
He gave me a puzzled look.
"One time I saw a photo," I began. "It was on one of those docks with fishing boats in the background and there was a... what do you call it, a thing for lifting up large fish."
"A hoist."
"Yeah. Well, there was this guy standing there with a fishing pole in one hand and the other hand touching his catch. Only it wasn't a fish, it was a beautiful woman. She had been hung up by her ankles just like she was a fish. Her hands were behind her back, I think they were tied there. Couldn't see because she was facing the camera. She was smiling. She had a nice figure. I guess any fisherman would be glad to catch one like that." I paused to see how he was taking this. He was looking me right in the eye but not frowning or anything. I continued, "It was an interesting photo. Have you ever caught a girl like that?"
"I've caught girls," he said with a trace of smile. "When I was younger. Lots. But if you're asking if I've ever strung them up by their feet to take a prize photo, the answer is no."
"Could you do it?" I asked.
He paused a moment before answering. I think he was beginning to catch on to my drift but not sure where it was going. "I have some beams in the garage. They would be strong enough to hold a girl-fish easily. And I have rope." His raised eyebrow asked why I wanted to know.
"I was just wondering what the girl in that photo felt like. I mean, hanging upside down by your ankles. I don't think it would hurt too much, but it has to be a really weird feeling. Maybe an exciting feeling." I trailed off the last two words. Inside I was amused at this new turn. Here I was strongly hinting to a strange man that I wanted to be tied up. Or something like that. Hanging by my feet, no less! Now that made being handcuffed seem down right normal. And the whole story about the photo was a fake, I'd never seen such a photo in my life.
His smile was larger now, and I liked it. When he smiled, I felt that he wasn't laughing at me but really cared about me. Not that he wasn't interested in my body - - what healthy male animal wouldn't be, considering how good it was and the way I was displaying it.
"Probably would be exciting," he said. "For both the girl and the fisherman."
The ball was in my court. Swing at it or quit the game. "I think that I would like to try that. Would you like to help me? I'll let you take a photo?"
He looked out at the ocean for a few seconds then began reeling in his line. "I'm not catching anything today, anyway," he said. "Sure, I'll help you find out what it's like to be a caught fish. Might be fun."
He threw away the bait and attached the hook to his pole. Then he picked up the sack and started back along the rocks. I followed beside him.
"My name is Nancy," I told him. "What's yours?"
"Phil."
"Glad to meet you, Phil. And... And thank you for helping me."
He smiled at me in an odd way but said nothing. Out of the comer of my eye I could see the beach boys staring at the two of us. Heaven only knows what was going through their tiny minds. This gorgeous blonde was walking off with a fisherman!?! And one old enough to be her father???
His car wasn't too far from mine but for some reason I didn't want to tell him that I would follow him. Instead I got into his old pickup truck. Once we started, he glanced over at my figure then asked, "You're not just playing a game are you? I mean, you could be planning to go along until we get to my place and then laugh at me and walk away."
"I really want to see what it is like to be hung upside down like a caught fish," I assured. "I won't back out." We drove a bit and then I added, "Do you have a camera?"
"Yes. Your really want to have your picture taken?"
"Yeah. Should be interesting. So long as you give me a copy of the photo, I don't mind if you keep one for yourself. You can show all your friends so they'll believe your wild story about this crazy girl who came up to you on the beach one day, and asked to be hung upside down."
He laughed. "Okay. We'll do it. That should be one very interesting picture."
His house wasn't too far from the beach, a modest home on a quiet street. As the truck pulled into the driveway, I suddenly had a thought. "You don't have a wife here, do you?"
He laughed again. "No. She took most of my money and departed years ago. No one there."
"Good. I'm not sure how a wife would take to your bring home a good looking girl and then hanging her by the feet in your garage." I laughed at the thought of this man trying to explain to a housewife that it was all the girl's idea.
We went right to the garage. It had the usual collection of extra tires, tools and miscellaneous junk that most garages are filled with. I looked up and there were several rafters crossing the open space, all looking solid enough to hold my weight and more. Phil stood there looking at the rafters, too. Finally, I said something to get things going. "What kind of rope do you have?"
He went to a shelf unit and took a coil of rope out of a box. Then he reached in and took a second length of rope out. When he came back, I could see what he held. The coil was white cotton clothesline, about fifty feet of it. It looked a little soiled, as if it had been used. The other rope was thicker and made of nylon. It looked a lot stronger. I pointed to the nylon rope. "That looks stronger. You've got a big fish here, you know."
He put the clothesline down on a washing machine and opened the nylon rope until he had one end in his hand. Then he just stood there like he wasn't sure what to do next. My guiding power, as I was coming to think of it, kicked in and I took over from there.
"Get a chair," I said. "Or a blanket. Something for me to sit on." He left and returned a minute later with a chair. While he was gone I looked at the rafters and at the ropes and felt a little shiver race down my spine. Was it fear, anticipation, excitement, or all of the above.
I sat down in the chair and held my legs out in front of me. "Okay, you can tie my ankles."
He knelt down and began wrapping the rope around my ankles. When he had a dozen windings, I suggested that he pass the rope between my legs and around those windings. That would tighten all them down and give him a middle position to take the strain of my weight. After he had wrapped the rope a couple times around, he looked up to the rafter. He tossed the rope over the rafter and caught it as it came down on the other side.
"Now all we have to do is find someplace to tie that end to when you have me pulled up," I said. "Someplace solid so I won't fall." He looked around and found a couple of hooks screwed into the wall. Originally they were meant to hold tools or a bicycle or something but they looked solid enough. "Okay, let's give it a try," I said cheerfully.
Phil pulled on the rope. My feet rose before me, taking my legs along. When my feet were about the level of my head, I had to shift my weight down on the chair and hold on to the edge of the seat. When my legs rose some more, I found myself sliding off the seat. "Hold it," I said. Then I eased my back off the chair and pushed it way with my hands. "Okay. Up some more." My head was only a few inches off the floor. Phil pulled until my feet were nearly at the rafter. That put my head about the level of his hips.
It was exciting! The ropes around my ankles tightened up until they hurt, but not much. What was the big thing was the way I felt. Hanging upside down was something I hadn't done since I was a child and then it was not by tied ankles. I swayed a bit back and forth, it was fun. I let my hands hang down and found that I could not touch the floor. It was then that I began to feel the helplessness. I couldn't touch anything. Even with hands free, I was helpless. I saw an upside down Phil tying off the rope to one of those hooks. Then he was standing there, looking in amazement at me.
I guess I was a sight. A nearly naked young woman hanging by her ankles in the middle of a garage. It was wild and I was honestly finding it exciting. I bent my body, mostly to test my limits, and found that it made me swing. I guessed I could have gotten myself swinging pretty far back and forth that way. Then I found that by swinging my arms around me, I could get myself to twisting around. Like a school girl I was having fun.
But I knew that I wasn't there to imitate a swing. There was more to this than making like a school girl. "Have you got your camera?" I asked. Phil sighed and told me to wait right there. During the couple minutes before he returned, I swung back and forth a bit, and tried to bend myself up to see if I could touch my ankles. If I could reach my ankles, perhaps I could untie them. I'm in pretty good shape and flexible. I found that I could put my hands behind my legs and pull myself upward. My fingers just reached the ropes around my ankles. But then I found that just touching them would do nothing to help me escape. The ropes were very tight against my skin. A little thinking told me that I would have to begin untying the rope around my ankles at the hook on the wall. At the very least, I would have to pull myself up until I could grab the rafters and crawl up there. That would take my weight off my ankles and allow me to escape. Which meant, if I was figuring properly, that I could escape if my hands were left free.
Phil came in just as I was trying to reach the rope between my ankles and the rafter.
"Trying to escape?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered honestly. "Just wanted to see if I could." Then I lowered myself back to a hanging position. "With my hands free, I think I can climb up to the rafters. Okay, fisherman, take your photo."
I let my hands hang down for the first photo. "Go ahead and take another," I prompted. "I'll pose differently." Differently meant that I put my arms along side my body and held them against my side. He took one photo of my front and another of my backside.
"Phil, does that camera have a timer? It would be nice if you were in the picture," I suggested.
"Timer? Yes. I hadn't thought of that."
"Wait!" I cried. "Before you take a picture with you in it, maybe you should tie my hands behind me. That's the way that girl was in the photo I saw," I lied.
"Okay," he said happily. As he was wrapping the clothesline around my crossed wrists behind my back, he commented, "And this will keep you from climbing up your legs and maybe escaping."
"I'm sure it will. You can wrap the rope a bit tighter. It will look better in the photos if the ropes are tight. And it will make escape harder. Impossible, even."
I was having fun. What was that old saying, when rape is inevitable, relax and enjoy it? Well, this wasn't the same as being raped but I was begin driven along into things that my normal self would never even consider. I had tried fighting it before but these strange urges had overpowered me. Now I didn't fight and found it was exciting. It didn't make sense that I should actually like being treated this way, but it was exciting and I was liking it. I was going along for the ride, and a wild ride it was. I wonder where it would lead to. With Ken, the policeman, it had led to wonderful sex with my hands handcuffed behind me. But hanging like this made sex impossible. So what would my strange urges lead me into next?
Phil took a couple more photos of me hanging with my hands tied behind me. I told him to get the camera ready, and then bent at the waist as hard as I could. I also flipped my head upward. I saw the flash go off and hoped that he had gotten a good shot of my head and body coming up with my long blonde hair flying upward.
Then Phil put the camera down on the edge of the washing machine and set the timer. He came over by my side and stood there with one hand against my hip. I was going to smile but the touch of his hand on my bare skin sent a shock racing down my nerves. I'm not sure what kind of expression I had.
At my suggestion, Phil took one more photo with him standing beside me, fishing pole in one hand and his other hand on my elbow. I smiled for that one. Then he put the pole down and stood there, a couple feet away, looking at my nearly naked and quite helpless body. "You doing okay?" he asked.
"I feel fine. I could hang like this all day," I said. Which was the truth, it was a strain but I felt fine. As to being like that all day, that would probably be quite a different story after many hours had passed.
"Phil, I'm going to try and escape. You want to watch to see how good your rope work is?"
"Sure. Struggle away."
I struggled. I twisted my hands and tried to reach the knots. I wiggled all over as if I were trying to get my feet out of the ropes. I bent backwards and forwards. I twisted my whole body. For a while I even fought the ropes in a manner that suggested I was angry and frustrated at my helplessness. Finally I settled back down, panting from my efforts. I knew it had been a really fine show and Phil couldn't have been unaffected.
"Well, I guess you have me helpless," I panted. "I can't escape. I'm your prisoner."
If Phil caught the change from "caught fish" to "prisoner", he didn't mention it. Instead, Phil looked like a man with a problem. We had done what we said we would. He had photos and I knew what it was like to hang upside down by the ankles. He seemed reluctant to suggest that it was time to take me down, and I did, too. Suddenly I heard myself speaking in a husky, very sexy voice, "Phil, you've been very nice to do all this for me. It would seem to me that you deserve a reward."
His ears picked up. But he was still too much of a gentleman to say what was on his mind, or take a step towards me.
I playfully swing myself a bit so I was swaying before his eyes. "I can guess what most men would like. But, as you can see, that part of me is not very accessible to you." I giggled as the thought of his climbing on a step ladder to try and screw my flashed into my mind. "But there are other ways to please a man...." I, the observer, was wondering just what was coming next. Other ways... Did that mean... ?
"I'll give you a choice," my voice said. "You can spanking my bottom with your hand or a belt until I'm crying and my bottom is all red and burning." I paused to let that picture sink in. "Or you can unzip your fly and I'll use my mouth to please you." While I was pausing to let that picture sink in, I was wondering what the hell I was doing. I had never "used my mouth" on a man before and didn't want to start now. That was a dirty, disgusting sex act that my mother had warned me about. Only prostitutes did things like that. Besides, I didn't know how to do it.
"Or you can take me down, then tie my hands over my head and hang me up by the wrists. If you leave my legs free, you'll be able to use that part of me the bulge in your pants wants to get at."
I looked down and, sure enough, there was a rather large bulge in his pants. Oddly, the part of me observing was not at all sure which of these rewards mentioned I wanted most. A spanking or whipping with a belt across my bottom was something that would undoubtedly hurt a lot. I hadn't been spanked since I was a little girl and it was my father's hand doing the pain giving. Yet there was a certain excitement at the thought of that happening to me while I was hanging upside down and so helpless.
Performing oral sex had to be on the bottom of the list. I didn't want to do it, didn't know how to do it, and prayed that his man didn't like it either. Still there was a terrible kind of fascination with the very idea. I was so helpless hanging there that he could easily force me to do it. Or anything.
As to being retied so that I was hanging by my hands and my legs free to spread wide apart -- that sounded the best of the three. Not that I really wanted to have sex with a man I met just an hour before, in his dirty garage. I simply wasn't that kind of a girl.
Phil thought for a few seconds. Then he came over to me and put his hand on my bottom. He turned me around and around a few times, twisting the ropes to my ankles up, then let go and watched me untwist. Then he felt my bottom again, caressing my bare skin softly.
Then he backed up a step and looked down at my hanging head. More specifically, at my lips. My tip of my tongue was slowly, sensuously licking my lips. Fool, I told myself.
Then he looked at my pussy. It was covered with a small triangle of material but that wouldn't offer any resistance if he decided he wanted access to my private place.
Then he grinned. "I'll take all three," he said grandly.
"Good choice," I heard myself say. Fool!
Phil took the belt out of his pants, sliding it out slowly. My eyes were riveted to that length of leather. My bottom tensed at the thought of it crashing into my soft flesh. This was going to hurt.
So he wouldn't have to go through the embarrassment of having his pants fall down, Phil took them off. And his shirt. And his underwear. Boy, had I been right! His rod was at stiff attention, more than ready for action.
I had stopped most of the twisting, so he walked around behind me. As he disappeared from view, I saw a glow in his eyes that both thrilled and scared me. Then, very suddenly, a fire exploded in my bottom. I squealed and my hands flew to my bottom. The flesh, needless to say, hurt and burned.
"Better keep your hands away from your ass," he said. "Wouldn't want to hit your fingers with this belt. Might break one of them."
I jerked my hands back. A second later another fire burst into being in my poor bottom. I cried out and jerked my body sideways a few times. My hands flew back to my bottom and pressed against the flesh as hard as they could considering my wrists were crossed and tied that way.
"You don't seem to be able to keep your hands away," he said. "We'll have to do something about that." He was gone for a few seconds. When he returned I felt him take my hands and wrap something around the wrists. Then I heard something being dragged along the concrete floor. I looked straight down and saw a large hunk of metal being positioned under me. The pressure on my hands increased and I felt my arms being pulled down behind me. There was a lot of strain on my shoulders when he finally tied the rope to that hunk of metal.
"This vice weighs about forty pounds. It will hold your arms down."
I tugged and had to admit that there was no way I was going to be getting my hands back up to my bottom.
The third stroke of that belt across my ass was a little harder than the first two. I could tell because I cried out louder. Inside I wanted to scream for mercy and tell him that he had to stop that pain, it was killing me. But only cries of anguish and moans came out of my mouth.
Like a lot of men, Phil had always wanted to whip a girl's bottom, to have a beautiful and very sexy woman naked and tightly bound and helpless before him. This was a sexual fantasy coming true. But he was still a gentleman, and he only delivered a dozen strokes to my bottom. Not that a dozen wasn't enough to make me feel like my rear was on fire. He got a lot for his dozen strokes. I twisted in mid-air, contorted, jerked around and cried out my pain. With my long blonde hair flying around, it must have been quite a sight. And I'm sure, based on what I saw of it when I got home and to a mirror, my bottom was quite a sight. It was purples and blacks when I finally saw it, I suppose it was all those colors and a lot more red just after he finished inflicting the last stroke upon that tender flesh.
I was panting and tears were running up my face. Phil dropped the belt and knelt to untie my arms from the vice on the floor. Then he pushed it back so he could stand in its place. I don't know if he had planned it that way, or if it was an accident that my mouth was exactly at the level of his penis when he stood before me. My eyes were glued to that monster as it approached me. I had never seen one that large before, the teenage boys I had sex with were certainly nothing like that. And Ken, although huge, was still an inch or so short of this monster.
I've already read that the bigger the penis, the more a woman enjoys sex. That was not what I was thinking as the beast approached my mouth. It would fill my mouth, I was sure. But there was no way that monster would fit into my vagina! My poor little pussy was just not up to taking such an over dose of male rod.
But that was not my concern at the moment. A part of my mind was repulsed as that thing neared my lips, but those traitorous lips parted to make room for it to enter. What a strange sensation! For the first time in my life a male penis was sliding slowly into my mouth! It was both horrible and fascinating. Then someone else took control and I stood helpless by while my tongue began teasing that huge invader. It ran around his rod, tickled the underside of it, and made love to it. Meantime my head began slowly moving back and forth, making the rod slide within my mouth. I noticed how I kept my mouth open wide to make sure that my teeth didn't touch him. I noticed how deeply it slid into me at the end of each stroke. Having no basis to judge by, I could only guess that I was performing the legendary "blow job" in fine style. At least Phil didn't complain.
For a long time I worked his penis with a combination of licking, sliding and gentle sucking. And I was amazed at the effect it was having on this man. He was making little animal noises sort of like whining with occasional gasps of pleasure. I picked up the speed until I was working his tool back and forth rapidly. At the end of each stroke, the head of his penis was pressing hard against my throat. Without even knowing what I was doing, I worked him up until his poor body could no longer take it. I felt a stiffening of his body and his rod, then he was shooting his load into my mouth. Before I could grasp what was happening, I was swallowing it eagerly.
Now that is one thing that my poor, departed Mother had warned me against. She seemed to have some kind of theory that if a girl swallows what she called "a man's seed," she would become pregnant as surely as if he had deposited it directly into her vagina. Once she even used the term, "fate worse than death" to describe a girl that such a terrible thing had been forced upon. What she didn't tell me was that a girl in a high state of sexual excitement doesn't worry about fates worse than death. She simply swallows and enjoys knowing what incredible pleasure she is giving to the man.
Phil cried out and grabbed my head with both hands to hold my face pressed against him while he shot his load. Finally he let go and staggered a few steps backward to lean against the washing machine. While he recovered, I found myself admitting that it hadn't been so bad. In fact, it had been rather pleasurable for me as well as him. I found myself wishing that my hands were not tied behind me. It would have been nice to play with myself right then. I was hot and ready for sex. But playing with myself was also something my Mother had told me good girls don't do.
After a while Phil got to his feet. "Damn, that was good!" he said with a smile. Just sorry that I came in your mouth. I was going to save it and screw your pussy the way you suggested."
From my hanging position, which was starting to get a bit uncomfortable by then, I said, "That's okay. You'll just rest up a bit and then do it." Was I crazy or what?
"But that might take a while. When I was a teenager, I could do it two or three times a night, no problem. But now...."
"Just leave me tied up until you're ready," I offered. "I'm not going anywhere." I illustrated by showing my bound wrists and jerking around a couple times.
"I can't leave you hanging upside down all that time," he said. "I'll let you down and then tie you up again later." He began untying the rope from the hook.
I waited until I was sitting on the floor with my feet flat on the concrete. "Wait," I said as he reached for the ropes around my ankles. "If you untie me, I'll just walk out on you," I said playfully. "If you want to screw me in mid-air, you'll have to keep me tied up."
"Well, I'll be damned," he said. "You're one hell of a girl!"
I looked down at the tiny pieces of cloth covering my rigid nipples. "You might want to go and take a shower," I suggested. "But if you do, you should take my bathing suit off. If I'm naked, I'll be a lot less likely to go running out into the street."
He grinned at that one. Funny thing is that it was true. Even with only a tiny bit of cloth to cover her, a girl feels safer going out in public than she would if that bit of fabric were not there. I might well walk out of his garage if I were wearing my bathing suit, I had been walking around the beach in it, after all. But without it I would certainly hesitate.
He helped me to my feet where I stood carefully on still bound ankles. The strings of the suit came easily undone. In less than a minute, my expensive and very tiny bathing suit was laying on his washing machine next to his camera.
"I can still hop," I pointed out. "If you're going to take a shower, you'd better tie me so I can't get out of here."
He grinned again. This might be a new game to him, but he was enjoying it and catching on fast. He looked around, finally settling on the hook that my ankle rope had been tied to. He picked me up and carried me over to it, putting me down so my back was turned to the wall. Then he took the rope still around my wrists that had tied them to the vice and pulled my hands up until they were right below the hook. Then he tied them quite firmly to the hook. It was at a height so that I had to bend forward a bit and my hands were almost at the height of my shoulder blades, but it wasn't too uncomfortable.
But Phil wasn't quite finished. There was that rope connected to my ankles and currently laying on the concrete. He took that rope and brought it up to my neck. He looped it around my neck twice and then back down to my ankles where he tied the end.
"That should hold you," he said. I tugged and twisted my hands around and had to agree that they were lashed quite tightly to the hook. I didn't see anyway that I would be able to get them free. And that rope around my neck, while not tight, did keep me bent over. He accepted my congratulations at having secured himself a naked girl so she would be there when he return, and then got dressed and left me.
That garage had no window and, with the door closed, it was rather dark. Outside the sun was nearing the horizon and the shadows lengthening. I tested the ropes on my wrists until I was convinced that I could not undo them. Then I settled down to wait. It was a strange time. That force or compulsion or whatever that had gotten me into this mess was laying low for the time being, and I was back in control. Well, as much control as a naked and bound woman has.
I should have been disgusted with myself but was strangely not. I had asked for and received the first real whipping of my life. And I had given the first blow job of my life, something that I had thought would be so terrible that I would die instantly if I ever had to do it. But I wasn't dead. Instead I was waiting around for a man almost old enough to be my father to get his vitality back so he could screw me. The funny part was that I was waiting with eager anticipation. The whipping had hurt but also, for some strange reason, aroused me. And having to take his penis in my mouth had been exciting, too. As I stood there a helpless prisoner of a man I hardly knew, my pussy was hot and I could feel the juices generated down there telling me that I was ready for sex. All I could think of was that huge penis at full attention again and being shoved into my poor, tight, little pussy.
Phil returned about half an hour later. He was cleaner and wearing a pair of slacks and casual shirt. Without a word he untied the rope from around my neck and my wrists from the hook, then carried me to the center of the garage. He untied my wrists but immediately gathered them together in front of me and rebound them with the same rope, this time with the palms facing each other. He threw the rope over the rafter and tugged. My arms went up before my face until they were stretched out high above me. Then he took the rope over to the hook and passed it once around the hook. He pulled and I felt my arms straining above me. Then I was slowly coming off the floor. My toes stopped about an inch above the concrete.
Phil tied off the rope on the hook. Then he came over and untied my legs. He took off his clothes and I could see that he was ready again. Very ready.
"Perhaps," I began, "you should tie my ankles spread apart. That would be easier on me so I don't have to try and hold them spread. And it would make me feel ever so much more helpless."
Phil did as I suggested. It was a good suggestion. With my ankles tied spread apart, it would be easier for him to enter me. And easier for me to keep my legs opened for him, too.
He kissed my nipples and teased them with his tongue. His hands were roving over my body, squeezing my sore bottom, stroking my flanks, having fun with a woman who could not deny him anything he wanted. I could have told him that all the foreplay was unnecessary, my pussy was hot and juicy and ready, but I didn't. He was having too much fun. And all that attention was working me into a higher state of sexual arousal.
Finally he could wait no longer. I was pretty excited by then, moaning and wiggling and thrusting my hips towards him. He took my hips in both hands and guided his rod towards me. Fortunately Phil was taller than I and could easily enter my sex while standing up. He bent his knees to lower his prick under my sex, then straightened up to drive the shaft home. I cried out in pleasure as the rigid shaft sank into me.
Everything after that happened fast and sort of blurred together. I was very conscious of the tight ropes around my wrists and ankles, of the vulnerable and helpless position I was in, as well as the wonderful sensations generating from my sex. When the orgasm came, my whole body arched rigidly and I saw flashing lights before my closed eyes.
Later, as I hung by my wrists and Phil recovered, I again wondered what I had been missing. If this was what sex was really about, I could only wish I had been doing it longer. And as I hung there, a strange realization came to me. Even thought it hurt, the tight ropes on my wrists was something that was right. It was a part of the whole scene, something very right and good.
Phil let me down and drove me back to where I had parked my car. It was dark by then and those deep pressure marks on my wrists and ankles, although fading were hard to see, for which I was glad. By then my strange urges had backed off and I was in control again. It would have been difficult to have to explain to someone why my wrists and ankles bore rope marks. And the purple and black and blue marks all over my bottom would be a bit hard to explain, also. That tiny bikini showed off every mark on my poor bottom.
Phil offered to take me to dinner. I refused. Then he wanted to know if he could see me again. In case I wanted to every get hung up again. Or something else. I gave him a phone number that was not mine and thanked him for everything. I told him to give me a call in a couple weeks. Then I put my sore bottom against the leather of my seat, whined a bit at the resultant pain, and drove off into the night.
CHAPTER THREE - ASKING FOR A SPANKING AND SCREWING
I went home and stayed in my car until the area between it and my apartment was clear of people, then I dashed for my front door. I didn't want anyone I knew to see me in that tiny bathing suit, with fading rope marks, and with my bottom covered with bruises that could only have come from a whipping.
My poor rear was sore for a day or so and that made sitting down a bit painful, but the hurt faded along with the colorful marks. By the end of the week my bottom was nearly in the same pristine condition it had been before my stupid remarks to Phil. I could have just offered him my body for normal sex, there was no reason to include a whipping and blow job, I repeatedly told myself.
I also had to come to an understanding of what was happening to me. When a person suddenly changes and begins doing things she would never have dreamed of, there's something wrong. But what? Was I going crazy? Was it simply a hormone imbalance, as I had told myself? Or something else? I found it most strange that I only went crazy on Saturday nights. But then, when a person is going crazy, it doesn't have to make sense.
When the next Saturday came around I awaited the coming of darkness with all the anticipation of a werewolf knowing that it was a full moon that night. I was both scared and eager.
I'll have to admit that I was worried about these strange happenings. So far they hadn't gotten me into any real trouble, just a sore bottom for a couple days. But there was no guarantee any future adventures would stay so harm free. But mostly I just wanted to know what was going on. And I had to admit that along with the sore bottom there had been some incredibly wonderful experiences. Had I not become a victim to these strange urges, I probably would have spent the last two weekends at home, watching rented movies about other girls who were discovering love, while waiting for Mr. Right to come into my life.
So I decided to "go with the flow," as they used to say. I wouldn't fight it, not that I could. As twilight descended, I was in my bedroom, laying out my sexiest clothing on the bed. The black velvet dress was there, along with my shortest skirt, those high heels I had brought, and a pair of jean shorts that showed my legs off pretty good. I also laid out my string bikini but shuddered at the thought of going out in public again with so little on my body. For good measure, I laid out my one pair of black lace panties. Then I stripped down to buff and threw my clothes into the wash.
I stood there, jay-bird naked and waiting for the strange urges to kick in. Minutes passed. I sat down on the bed to wait. More minutes passed. I stood and began pacing the room. This was pretty silly, I told myself. Imagine a girl who stands around naked waiting for some strange power to take over her body and make her do things she never normally would. Maybe my hormones were in balance, and I'd just spent that Saturday night without even a movie to watch.
In my pacing, I happened near the window. The blinds were drawn, of course, because I lived on the ground floor. But I peeked out of the edge. I could see the left tail light of my beautiful 380SL. The little I could see of the red paint glowed softly from a fresh coat of wax I had applied only that afternoon.
Suddenly I was back at the bed looking down at the clothing laid out there as if I had never seen it before. My hand reached for the jean shorts but instead of putting them on, I went to the dresser and took out the scissors. Oh, boy! I thought, it's starting!
I had thought the shorts were pretty short to begin with but the scissors shortened each leg until they resembled a pair of jean panties. A scanty pair at that. Then I put them on. Each side was cut high and showed a fair amount of my hips. But I did have to admit that they looked sexy.
Then I went back to the closet. A blouse was selected, an old one made of denim, similar to the jean shorts. Using the scissors to make a small first cut, I then ripped several places on the blouse to create a well- worn and ragged appearance. There was a large hole in the side seam that allowed a goodly amount of skin to show through. And there was another tear in front that showed my navel and a good part of my stomach. Another tear above my left breast allowed way too much of the top of my breast to show.
The appearance was of carefully crafted wear and tear. It was also very sexy. I put on the high heels and looked at myself in the mirror. Those shorts now looked a lot like the hot pants from the seventies. And the high heels really made my legs look really great. A bit like a streetwalker, it seemed to me, but really great. I left for whatever fate awaited me.
Instead of cruising the beach or getting picked up in a bar, I drove out towards Del Mar. Fifteen minutes later I was knocking on the door of an apartment I had never been to before. The man who answered the door was in his late twenties, maybe a bit older, not bad looking, with a carefully trimmed mustache. He looked me up and down, smiled and asked what he could do for me.
"You can tie my arms tightly behind my back, then spank my bottom until it glows red," I heard myself telling him. That caused one eyebrow to lift on this handsome face. "Come on," I continued without allowing him a chance to respond, "this is... Ah, a friend of Cindy's. I know how much you like to tie up girls and spank their bottoms. And then make pretty good love to them."
I walked passed him into the apartment. He didn't try to stop me. Inside, it was a pretty nice apartment, far more expensive than my humble place. I turned back towards him. Without pausing, I unbuttoned the blouse and pulled it off. With no bra underneath, he quickly saw that I had a fine pair of globes. I tossed the blouse on the couch, then put my hands on my hips.
"You keep the ropes in the bottom dresser draw in the bedroom. Do you want me to get them or will you?"
He was off balance but recovering quickly. "Whatever any friend of Cindy's wants, I'll be happy to provide." And he waved a hand in the direction of a hallway.
I went ahead of him then stood to one side so he could enter. It was what I guessed was a typical playboy bedroom. The bed was a water bed, very large and possessing large wood posts, like one of those old four- posters. The bedspread was some kind of fake fur, all black and soft. A couple erotic paintings depicted couples in various stages of lovemaking, but I didn't pay much attention to them. This man, whose name I still didn't know, was coming towards me with some rope in his hands and a leer on his face.
I turned around, braced my legs wide apart, put my hands behind me, palm facing palm, and told him, "Elbows together like you usually do. Make it tight."
Suddenly I felt rope around my elbows and then they were drawn together very tightly. As he wrapped rope around them, I wondered at the fact that my elbows could so easily touch behind my back. And at what the did to my breasts. They were sticking out and up like they never did normally. As the rope was being wrapped around my wrists, I told myself that this shouldn't be too bad. I had asked for a spanking, not even a whipping like I had with Phil. After having soreness each time I sat down for two days, a hand spanking would be mild. And as to this man making love to me... Well, he wasn't bad looking and his body was that of a man who exercised regularly and was in good shape.
The final knot tied, he turned me around and kissed me hard. It wasn't the kiss of a man trying to seduce a woman, it was the kiss of a man really turned on and ready to get down to serious lovemaking. I kissed back just as hard.
His hands were all over my breasts, squeezing them and flicking the nipples, while his mouth keep my lips busy. His tongue penetrated my mouth in a demanding way, almost like it was a replica of his penis and my mouth was a vagina. It was turning me on very fast.
When his mouth descended down to my breasts to suck hard on the nipples, I had chance to speak again. "You'll want to take down the shorts," I told him in that husky, sexy voice I only used on Saturday nights. "You prefer to spank a girl on bare skin."
"Cindy must have told you a lot about me," he said. "And you even sound like Cindy," he commented. But he sank to his knees to unbutton then pull down my shorts. Without panties under them, it wasn't long before my bottom -- not to mention my pussy -- was bare to him.
He had a chair beside the bed. I knew, just somehow knew, that the chair was there for exactly the purpose he then put it to and no other. He sat down, pulling me with him until I was over his knee. He put one leg over my right leg to hold me down. His left hand took hold of my bound wrists and lifted my arms away from my back. That left my bottom available for this right hand.
A hand spanking should not have hurt that much. My Father's spankings never hurt like that, but his man's hand hit my bare bottom very hard. I squealed with each impact. The smacking sound was quite loud in the bedroom and somehow that made the spanking hurt more. He covered my bottom evenly all over, taking his time and placing his blows where he wanted them.
I wiggled, squirmed and tired to get my hands down to cover my bottom. But his hand easily held wrists that were bound with tight rope, and his leg over mine kept me from doing much beyond wiggling my bottom. Which was probably very pleasing to him. I could feel the bulge in his pants becoming very large and knew that my struggles against him were pure aphrodisia.
When he could stand no more, and my bottom was on fire, he lifted me to my feet then tossed me on the water bed where I bounced. I watched him toss off his clothing in haste, admiring his fine body and that erect rod pointing directly at me. It might not have been as large as Phil's or even Ken's, but it looked pretty good and I could hardly wait to have him demonstrate how well he could use it.
By now you should recognize the scene I began this story with. After some pretty much normal sex with him on top of me and me on top of my bound arms, he rotated backwards and pulled me up to straddle him, his penis never having left my sheath during the process. So I finished that round of lovemaking on top, pumping my hips up and down over his shaft, breasts bouncing, hair flying around, and all with my arms tightly bound behind me. We finished up about the same time, rather satisfying, if I do say so, and collapsed on the water bed. A while later he asked me if I would like my arms untied and I declined. I think he muttered something about my even liking the same things as Cindy, then we both drifted off to sleep.
I awoke first, mostly because of the pain in my arms. I don't suppose you have ever spent the entire night with your arms tied behind you, elbows together, but I can tell you, it's not comfortable. My hands were a bit numb but mostly it was the strain on my shoulders and elbows that awoke me. The first hints of grey light were showing at the window.
My moving around on the water bed didn't awake my companion, whatever name he went by. I considered just leaving but couldn't figure how to get my arms untied. And I wasn't about to walk out into the morning completely naked and with my arms tied behind me. Would be hard to drive home that way.
Those strange urges or power or whatever was not driving just then, and the idea of giving this man a blow job, as I had promised the night before, was not what I would have wished do to. For a few seconds I considered simply waking him up, but something told me that he would hold me to my promise before untying me. So I pulled the sheets down and got on my knees next to him. His penis was limp, not nearly as exciting to a girl as it had been the night before. But I figured that status would change shortly. And it did. As soon as I took it in my mouth and began licking it with my tongue, it responded and grew. Before a minute was up, the rod was at full attention and Maurice was waking up. I was to wonder later how I knew his name was Maurice. It would prove to be important. But just then I was busy sliding my mouth up and down on his shaft.
He didn't let me finish the blow job. With my arms bound behind me, it was easy for him to pull me away from his rod and push me over onto my back. Then he was on top of me, shaft buried into my sheath, which I was surprised to find was quite juicy and ready, and pumping away.
It was a good coupling. Not an intense or satisfying as what Phil had given me while I hung by my wrists in his garage, but good. I guess there is truth in that old saying, "Even bad sex is good." It may not have been perfect but I was satisfied.
He finally did untie my arms and for a while they hung limp by my sides. Then the pins and needles and other funny feelings came and I was moaning in pain. Returning circulation can be an agony all by itself. Still, I was glad to have my arms back. After five minutes I could use my hands again and the numbness was almost all gone.
I declined his offer of breakfast and gathered my clothes together. To his question about his seeing me again, I told him maybe. If the mood stuck me. And I refused to give him my phone number.
I dressed and left just as the sun was peeking over the distant mountains.
CHAPTER FOUR - AN INTERESTING EXPERIMENT
I was surprised but my bottom was not a bit sore that Sunday. From the way it had been stinging and burning the night before, I had expected something a little more lasting. But a hand spanking, even if it hurts right then and there, isn't much in the full scope of punishments a girl's bottom can endure.
I drove home, removed the modified clothes and took a shower. Standing under the hot water I found that my arms still held reddish indentations above my elbows where those ropes had held me so very tightly all night. But they were fading fast and the hot water seemed to help.
Afterwards, after a breakfast and as I lay on my bed, I began thinking. Either I was going crazy or something very mysterious was happening to me. It was one thing to go to a bar and get picked up, some girls do it all the time. And it was not much different to put on a tiny bikini and go to the beach to get picked up. But to drive directly to some strange man's apartment, know that he liked to tie girls up and spank their bottom, and to get him to perform those tasks on you was something else. And there was the little point of my knowing his name the next morning. I was sure that he hadn't mentioned it the night before. We were in too much of a hurry to get to the bedroom to deal with such little niceties.
So, how did I know his name? I was right, because I called him that when he was awake and he answered. For that matter, how did I know that this Maurice was into those things? It didn't take long for me to figure out that I couldn't be going crazy until insanity included psychic powers too.
I got up from the bed, put on another pair of shorts and a light blouse -- it was going to be one of those hot spring days -- and opened the window to my bedroom. The sight of one comer of my beautiful little sports car suggested that a drive might help clear my mind of this mystery.
It was an hour later, while driving down Pacific Coast Highway, that it occurred to me that this strange behavior had begun the same time as I got my new 380SL. But then I corrected myself, the first hint of madness was a week later when I went to that bar and met Ken. I really wanted to forget about my strange urges problem but it kept coming back to me. Finally I stopped and parked the car near the top of a cliff overlooking the lovely beaches at Del Mar. I sat near the edge of cliff and looked out over the vast ocean. Far below dozens of tiny people walked along the beach, busy about their own tasks, enjoying the sun and sand and water.
I simply couldn't get the idea out of my mind that I had known things that I simply shouldn't have. And no matter how crazy I was going, or no matter how much my body pumped me full of hormones, I was not going to know things that I shouldn't. Something else was happening. But what?
I decided to try an experiment. There was a shopping mall not far away and it was filled with stores anxious to sell me all kinds of clothing. I drove right there and made some purchases. I changed into my new clothes in the woman's dressing room. When I walked out to my car, I looked quite a bit different. Gone was the shorts and blouse. Instead I wore a sleek electric blue dress, sheer and form hugging. A new pair of high heels clicked on the pavement as I approached my car and tossed the bag with my old clothes in the back jump seat. I had no underwear under that lovely blue dress and I suspected that every male (or female) eye in the shopping mall had been aware of that fact.
It had been a little embarrassing to walk around in that dress but it was the exact kind of dress my alter ego seemed to like. I thought of it as an alter ego but I wasn't really sure that was the right term. It was more a strange force that took over my body whenever it wanted to. Well, I was going to give it a chance to take over.
I drove back to the beach area and looked for a restaurant with a bar. Being only noon on Sunday, I found not much in the way of open bars, so I settled for a place where I could get some lunch. The dress drew stares as I entered and found a seat.
It would be nice to say that I remained embarrassed, but the truth is that I was beginning to enjoy all that adoration from every male in sight. It was like they couldn't stop themselves from staring at my figure. I liked that. Hell, any girl would if she would just admit it to herself. Girls like to be admired. And those wonderfully jealous looks from all the women... !
I enjoyed a crab louis salad and ice tea, then sat back. I was walking around in a dress designed to attract every male between fifteen and ninety, willing that strange force to take over, but nothing was happening. Maybe, I thought with a mental sigh, it only comes out on Saturday night. I paid for lunch and left.
I wasn't really paying attention to where I was driving beyond the vague idea that I should return home. Suddenly I was parking the car and getting out. I looked around but didn't recognize the area except that it was near the downtown section of one of the small cities that dot the coast between San Diego and LA. I left the car and walked around the comer to find a main street with little traffic. I leaned up against the door of a closed store, legs out before me. The dress was short and my legs looked fine.
As I was wondering what my alter ego was doing, I noticed that there was another girl across the street. She was dressed in hot pants, a tight blouse, and high heels. She seemed to be glaring at me. Then it hit me. This was a pick up point for hookers and I was standing there, dressed like one! Part of me wanted to get out of there but the strange power had me in its control and I stood there like candy in the window of a candy store.
Several cars cruised slowly by, the male heads turned to look over the other girl and me. Finally one car slowed down and stopped next to me at the curb. The window nearest me came down. I walked over to the car window and bent down. Actually, I swayed my bottom over to the car, just like the classic image of a prostitute enticing the customer. The man inside was in his late forties, receding hairline, well dressed, and smiling like crazy. I could smell whiskey on his breath and wondered about someone who started drinking that early on a Sunday, or any day.
"Hi, honey," he began. "Want a ride?"
I could almost feel whoever was controlling me consider the man. Then I heard myself saying, "No thanks. I'm waiting for my husband, Killer, to pick me up."
As I returned to my doorway, I heard some unflattering words before the window of that car rose to the top and cut them off.
Well, who or what was pushing me along didn't like that guy. No wonder, I didn't like him either. Certainly not as a potential sexual partner. And the wedding ring on his hand said he was cheating on his wife. My Mother had warned me about getting involved with a man who would break the holy vows of matrimony and cheat on his wife.
In a similar manner I listened to myself reject two other potential customers. I was beginning to wonder what my alter ego was looking for when a fire engine red 560SL pulled up. Now there was my kind of a man. His Mercedes was brand new, all shinning and nice, but I considered it a brother to mine. I swished over to his window and looked in.
"Hi!" said the man inside.
I looked him over. Thirties, plenty of hair, looked fit, like a tennis player, and not too bad looking. "Hi, yourself," I countered with.
"You lonely?"
Not knowing if that was a very original line with hookers, I responded with a neutral, "I've been waiting for someone."
He lifted one eyebrow. I could see that he was just a bit put off by an answer not the one he expected. "But I think you'll do," I said. Then I opened the car door and got in. He pulled away from the curb. I saw the girl in the hot pants give me a very dirty look as we passed her.
"How much?" he said.
So he wanted to get right down to business. "Depends. What kind of action you looking for?"
He cleared his throat. "I was sort of thinking along the lines of... Well, I would like...." He seemed to have trouble getting it out so I helped him. I put one hand on his right knee and said, "You can talk to me. I've seen it all."
What the hell was my alter ego doing? I was relatively an innocent at these sexual matters and certainly hadn't "seen it all."
"Well, I would like to tie you up," he managed to get out. Bingo! Like some kind of psychic, I had turned down customers until the right one came along. "Fine," I said casually, as if agreeing that the weather was hot.
He looked at me to see if I was serious. I smiled faintly. My hand on his leg gave a small squeeze. Then I dropped the bombshell, "But only if you can tie me really, really tight. I hate it when I can get the ropes off."
I think he almost shit in his pants right then. The car drifted out of its lane and he had to suddenly correct it. "That's... That's good," he got out.
Once more I came to his rescue. "You got a place where we can play?"
"Sure. We'll be there in a couple minutes. But you didn't say how much?"
I smiled to myself. How much? How much does a prostitute charge to let a customer tie her up? I assumed that the offer included having sex after he had me tied up. But before I could come up with a price, my alter ego bet me to it. "Depends. How good are you at tying a girl?"
"I've done it a few times," he said. "When I was a teenager. Had a couple girl friends who liked it."
"Any wife?"
"Never married." Then he gave me a look that asked what the hell a prostitute cared about whether he was married or not.
"Tell you what," I said. "We'll go to your place. I'll let you tie me up. If I can get free, then I'll let you tie me again and have sex. But it will cost you a thousand dollars, twice my usual price. But if I can't get free, you can have me for nothing." His eyes widened. Twice he had to swallow before he could talk. "Fine. I agree."
For a few minutes we drove without saying anything. So my usual fee was five hundred dollars? I didn't know that. I had a feeling that was high for a streetwalker. For the first time the thought occurred to me that I was being possessed by the ghost of a prostitute. Or something like that. Or maybe I had just pulled that figure out of the thin air.
His place was up on a hill overlooking the pacific. I could see why a thousand wasn't any kind of obstacle to him. The house must have cost a few million. In that part of the state you don't get a magnificent house with a panoramic ocean view like that without paying for it. He drove into the garage and came around to hold open the door for me.
He led me directly to the bedroom but I got enough view of the house to know that I would never see that kind of money. My high heels sank into the thick carpet and polished wood greeted, my eyes everywhere. The front room had large picture windows overlooking the blue Pacific. His bedroom was only a little smaller than my whole apartment complex. The bed was huge.
I swished over to stand next to it and tested with by pushing down with one hand. I made no comment but walked around to the other side. Striking a sexy pose, I told him, "Get your ropes out."
He was calmed down now but was almost as eager as a teenage boy on his first heavy date. He went to a dresser draw and took out four lengths of rope, each coiled up. He put them on the bed like a native making an offering to one of the village gods. I looked them over. White cotton clothesline, relatively new and unused.
"That all you got?" I asked.
"Yes." He looked down at the ropes as if he had just seen them for the first time. "I think there's enough there to do the job."
"We'll see. I like lots of rope," I said. I did?
I picked up the first coil and unknotted it. The end of the rope was tied in a small loop. I tossed the rest of the rope on the floor, keeping the looped end in my hand. Then I took the rope six inches from the loop and passed it through the loop. Then I pulled the rest of the rope through until I had a larger loop in my hand, one that would easily slide open or closed. I walked over to him and handed him the loop. Then I reached down and took the hem of my dress and pulled it up and over my head.
Did I tell you that I had no underwear on? Probably did. I tossed the dress aside like it hadn't cost me half a week's pay. Then I spread my legs a bit, put my hands on my hips and challenged him, "Okay, do your best. You agree to the following rules. You can tie me anyway you wish. When you're finished, you give me half an hour to get free. If I get out, you can tie me again and have your sex but it will cost you. If I can't get out, you can have me free." I paused to blow him a kiss. "For all night," I added in that husky, sexy voice I was coming to know pretty well.
He smiled but said nothing. Instead he came to me, walked around behind me and took my hands off my hips. I could feel the rope looping around my wrists and wondered how good he would be. Or, more exactly, would I be getting paid for this or going home with empty pockets. If I had pockets on that dress, which I didn't.
The ropes on the wrists were pretty tight and cinched down. That meant, I knew without knowing how I knew, that there were additional windings of the rope put over the main ones. Those additional windings tightened down the main bunch and allowed you to make them all even tighter than it would have been. He knotted the rope several times, I was paying attention to what he was doing. Something told me that in order to have a chance at escape, I would have to know exactly how the ropes had been put on and where each knot was.
Then he looped the next rope around my elbows and I knew I was not going to get paid. If he had only tied my wrists, I might have been able to work the ropes off or reached a knot with my fingernails. But with my elbows tight together, there was little chance of that. As each coil went on, I could feel how tight it was. And when he passed rope between my forearms to cinch down the main windings, I was certain that this man knew what he was doing and I would not be getting free.
He checked the ropes after knotting them and was satisfied that they weren't loose. I agreed but without saying a word. These ropes were tight -- very tight. He asked me to sit on the edge of the bed and put my legs out.
I did so and watched as he wound rope around my ankles then cinched it down and knotted several knots as tightly as he could. I noticed that he had left about three feet of rope " trailing away from my ankles, and wondered what that was for. Then he tied my knees together with rope just above them. My legs were tied pretty tightly but not quite as tightly as my elbows, I noted.
"Please stand up," he asked and helped to my feet. My arms felt almost the same as Maurice had done, only perhaps a bit tighter. He turned me around and lowered me to the bed. Then he pulled me up until I was laying face down in the center of the bed. I felt him getting on the bed and wondered if he were going to try and screw me right then and there without allowing me a chance to escape. But I was wrong on that count. Taking the rope trailing from my ankles, he passed it between my forearms and then back down to my feet. He pulled and I felt my feet coming up as my legs bent. Soon my legs were doubled and my feet near my hands. He looped the rope around my ankle bondage again and back through my arms. Then he pulled tighter until I felt the backs of my ankles pressing against my palms.
The name came to me: hogtie. It was a way that I had never been tied but one I just somehow knew was a mainstay of the rope crowd. And for good reason. It was a very good way to make a girl helpless without a great deal of rope. With her ankles tied to her wrists, she was doubled up backwards and very limited in what she could do.
I felt him tying the final knots up to the ropes on my elbows and felt my heart sink. There was no way I was going to be getting out of this tie, I just knew it. I'd only a little experience in being tied, all of it over the last couple weekends, but I just knew, sort of like instinct, that I would not be working my way free of this one.
He got off the bed and looked down at me. I could see that he was breathing a little hard and there was a bulge in .his pants. I looked up to meet his eyes, then asked, "This all?"
"That's all. I don't think you'll be getting free from that."
"You base that observation on experience?" I asked, my alter ego feisty up to the very end.
"Yes. Had a girlfriend named Brenda who liked to try to get out of being tied up. She was pretty good. So I learned how to tie her better than she could get free from. The hogtie was the best way."
"I'll bet. You have done a good job," I admitted. "I guess you have tied up a girl or two."
"A few. But that was years ago. I'm rusty at it."
"Pretty tight for rusty," I commented dryly.
"Some things you don't forget. Like riding a bicycle." He grinned at me and I smiled back.
"Could you do two things for me?" I asked.
"What?"
'Tell me your name."
"Brian. And the other thing?"
"Scratch my nose. It itches."
He put his hand next to my nose and I rubbed it on his knuckles. "Thanks," I said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some serious struggling to do."
"Of course, my dear. One full half hour, I believe you asked for." Now that he had me all naked and tied up, he was more relaxed. "Will that be enough, or would you like a full hour?"
He was teasing me because we both knew that I couldn't get out of those ropes. "That will be enough," I replied.
He turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, I called out, "Brian?"
"Yes?"
"You're going to leave me alone?"
"That way you can try all your tricks without having the customer watch."
"I'd rather you stayed. You can watch to make sure that I don't cheat." Just exactly how I could cheat was something I would have been hard put to define. "You've done beautiful work with the ropes, perhaps you'd like to see me lose the bet."
He pulled a chair over to where he could easily see the bed and sat down. I tried to look back over my shoulder at the way I was tied but couldn't see anything but my toes out of the comer of my eye.
There began one of the strangest events of my life. I did some serious struggling, make no doubt about that. I strained to reach whatever ropes I could with my fingers, and tried to wiggle some slack into other ropes. I rolled around from side to side, shaking my arms and legs but to no avail. I arched my body backwards to pull at the ropes holding me but none gave the slightest bit.
Sometimes I rested, usually laying on my side, panting from the exertion. You can't believe how much effort it takes to fight against ropes. Sometimes I was working very carefully with fingers to find some knot I could loosen, other times I fought the ropes with an intense emotional anger and frustration.
And do you know the funny part? I was enjoying it! It wasn't comfortable to be tied like that. I could hardly move and there was considerable strain on my arms. But there was a strange kind of pleasure in fighting the ropes, in feeling how tightly they held me, even in the helpless feeling them gave me. And knowing that I was putting on a show for that man watching from this chair was a big turn on, too.
But all good things come to an end. Eventually, Brian got up from his chair and came over to me to sit on the bed next to me. I was laying on my side, facing him.
"It's been well over half an hour," he said. "I don't think that you'll be getting out."
"You're probably right," I conceded. "Not even if you gave me all night to try."
"Now that's an idea," he said slowly.
"Don't you dare!" I cried. "That would be terrible!" I didn't tell him that I had spent the entire night before with my arms tied just as they were then.
Very deliberately he reached over and cupped my left breast in his hand. He squeezed gently. It wasn't to hurt me, nor really to sexually excite me. It was to show that he could touch me anytime he wished, and would. It was a statement that I was helpless and he was in control. I liked the feeling.
"I guess I'm am yours," I said in that husky voice. "At least for tonight. Will you keep me tied up all that time?"
"In one way or another," he replied matter-of-factly. "That would be nice. Brenda used to like being tied for whole weekends at a time."
"Good for Brenda," I muttered. "And when will you screw me? I can see that you're ready," I added with a nod in the direction of the bulge in his pants.
"Maybe right now," he said.
"Then you're out-foxed yourself," I assured him. "There is no way you can get to my pussy while I'm hogtied like this."
He seemed to consider that for a while. Then he knelt down and began sucking on my breasts. It was then that I found I was in a pretty high state of sexual excitement. Whether it was the struggling against the ropes or being naked before a man I knew was going to have sex with me, I don't know. But his tongue and mouth sent electric shocks racing into my breasts and down to my pussy. For long minutes he worked my breasts until I was moaning with desire.
After a few minutes I felt his hand on my pussy. He gently slid his fingers between my golden hair and spread the lips of my labia. His fingers began stroking my clitoris, which did wonderful things to my already excited body. I found myself thrusting my hips forward as much as the hogtie allowed me. He teased my most sensitive place with expert fingers that knew just where to rub, until I was gasping and trembling all over.
When I hit the orgasm, it was like nothing else I had ever experienced. Being so very tightly bound up was a part of it, I'm sure. As I arched my body against the ropes and trembled all over with ecstasy, I was very much aware of how completely helpless I was. Those ropes holding my arms and legs were wonderful extensions of his control over me, like his own hands holding me prisoner. I cried loudly and shook all over.
When I came down I was still tied in that hogtie and feeling very mellow. "Thank you," I said sincerely. It had been wonderful. "But that's not really what you wanted, is it?"
"Who says?" he replied. "If you had charged me a lot of money and set a time limit to rush the whole thing, I would have screwed you with only my own pleasure in mind. But you made a game of it, allowing me a chance to get you for the whole night for free. That makes things different. It's not even evening yet, I'll get to screwing you a few times before I let you go tomorrow morning." A shiver raced through me at that. "But it pleased me to see you reach an orgasm first."
"It pleased me, too," I agreed. I shifted position a bit so my head was nearer his. "And you do tie very well. Did you really have a girlfriend named Brenda who liked this?"
"Of course. Why should I lie about that?"
"Well, she was a lucky girl. You tie very well."
"And I think you really like it."
I paused before telling him, "Yes. I like it very much."
"But that's not a good thing for a prostitute to like. Making bets like you did aren't good for your business. Didn't you think that I could tie you well enough to keep you from escaping?"
"I hoped that you would be very good at it," I said. "There's some things more important than making money." What? Then I remembered that I wasn't really a prostitute. "You have very good hands."
He stood up. "I'm going to take a shower now," he said. "Then I'll see about that sex you promised."
"Are you going to leave me here, like this?" I asked.
"Why not?"
Why not, indeed? "I'll be here when you get back," I said honestly. "I can't get free."
"I know."
"And you'll really keep me tied up all night?"
"In a hogtie if you aren't a good screw."
"I'll try to be very good."
He turned and left.
While he was gone, I half-heartedly tugged at the ropes but escape was impossible and I knew it. I rolled around a bit, then got the idea of hiding so he would have to look for me when he came back. I rolled over to the edge of the bed. It looked a long way down to the floor, and my arms and legs were pretty tightly tied behind me. It took some courage to roll off that edge. I hit the floor hard and had to wonder why I had been thinking this was a good idea. But since I was on the floor, I rolled over and over until I was away from the bed and heading down the hallway. It was not easy going, and I had to stop often to wiggle a bit this way or that to set up the next roll in the direction I wanted to go.
Rolling over was the only way I could move. Wiggling and squirming got me nowhere with my arms useless and my legs doubled up like that. But if I rolled over onto my side fast enough, I could continue the roll over onto my arms and legs, then over to the other side. Every few rolls I had to pause to check my direction and usually wiggle a bit to correct the path. And I hurried, trying to be in some other room when Brian returned from his shower. I could just imagine the puzzled look on his face when he found this tied up little prostitute gone.
I pushed against the first door I came to and found it opened easily, so I went in. It was some kind of library with book shelves all over the walls. I rolled in and wiggled around until I could close the door with my knees. Then I struggled until I was behind an easy chair. Finally I rested after having exerted a lot of effort in my dash down the hall.
I had no thought of escape. My struggles on the bed had proven to me that I wasn't going to get free of those ropes. And in a hogtied like that, I wasn't going to get out of his house. My "running" away was only a game. Like a child showing off, I was showing him that I was not totally helpless. I knew that he would find me within a few minutes of discovering that I was no longer on the bed, but it was fun to make him have to look for me. I wondered what he would think when he came back and found his bed empty.
Well, Brian found me and carried me back to the bedroom. He wasn't mad, in fact he found my little game amusing and told me that he appreciated my ingenuity and resourcefulness. He also told me that he would make sure didn't do it again. Which meant, he explained, that I would be even more securely restrained during the night. I wondered what would be more secure than this tight hogtie but didn't ask. I would find out soon enough.
As he said he would, Brian took his pleasure with my body. But I stayed hogtied. He lay down on the bed next to me and presented his erect penis before my mouth. Without any kind of demure, I took it in between my lips and began teasing the velvet head with my tongue.
I made that blow job last as long as I could, teasing, sometimes even pushing it out of my mouth when he was getting too near his own climax. But finally I sensed that he was too close and I helped him over the brink by sucking hard. I swallowed all his cum gladly and licked his rod clean afterward.
I felt very good about what I had done. I wanted to give Brian pleasure. He had done the same for me, and done it first. I wanted to give him pleasure and if he wanted to use my mouth that time instead of my pussy, that was fine by me. The poor little pussy would get its turn, I was sure.
CHAPTER FIVE - SOMETHING NOT ON THE MENU
I stayed in that hogtie for the better part of the afternoon. Which didn't bother me nearly as much as I would have thought it could. It was uncomfortable but bearable. And I was feeling very good about this man and the way he was treating me. Maybe Ken and Phil and Maurice had prepared me for this, but being tied up and used sexually was rather pleasant. In an exciting in a very strange way. Well, whatever the reason, it simply felt good to be laying hogtied on Brain's bed.
Eventually he did untie me, and as I unfolded stiff legs and eased my arms around to the front of my body, I wondered if the pleasure I had found in being hogtied had been my own or something shared with whatever my alter ego was.
Brian allowed me to take a shower, which felt pretty good. When I came out, modestly holding a towel around me, he was waiting in the bedroom, toying with a length of rope. "Got plans for that rope?" I asked. I took a few steps in his direction and casually dropped the towel on the floor. I crossed my wrists in front of me and told him, in that husky voice, "I did say that you could have me all night.
What's your pleasure, big boy?"
Yeah! That was the alter ego talking. And probably about to get me into trouble. Or at least an uncomfortable position.
"I was thinking about it. But it's getting towards dinner time and I have to make a decision. Do I tie you nice and tight and leave you here while I go out and have some good food in a nice restaurant? Or do I take you with me?"
I was hungry, even my alter ego must have known that. I could almost feel the thoughts forming and knew that I was about to say something that would get me hogtied again and left alone. I tried as hard as I could to push those thoughts down. What came out of my mouth was sort of a compromise, "Too bad you can't have both."
Brain smiled and tossed the rope onto the bed. From the same dresser draw that the ropes came, he extracted a pair of handcuffs. They were black colored, but still looked quite solid. "I know a place where the booths are so dark you can hardly see your food."
"Delightful! I'll get my dress... Unless you'd like to have me walk in naked...?" I was teasing him and we were both enjoying it.
"Get dressed. Not that your dress leaves much to the imagination...." The restaurant was called The Hideaway and the booths were, indeed, rather dark. Apparently they knew him from the way the head waiter greeted him. The booth was dimly lit and the table before us was covered with a table cloth that hung well over the edges. I noted that it would hide almost all of my legs. And the top of the table came to midway between my hips and breasts. I slid in and sat close to Brian.
We had a cocktail before dinner, mine a Manhattan, only the second one in my life. I was beginning to wonder if my alter ego had different taste in drinks as well as sexual activities. Would seem so. I sipped my drink slowly but before the first course of dinner came I was feeling no pain. I wasn't drunk but approaching that giggly stage just short of it. I guess I was smiling too much and feeling pretty mischievous.
Under cover of the table cloth, I reached down and pulled the edges of my dress up until the bottom was someplace under me. I had to lift my bottom off the seat but did it very casually so no one would notice that I was pulling my dress above my hips. When I finished, the hem was actually around my hips. It would have taken me only a second to pull the thing completely off over my head.
If Brian saw what I was doing, he gave no indication. So I took his hand in mine and brought it down to my lap. I made sure that it slipped under the front edge of my dress. I could tell by the smile on his face that he was very aware of my nudity from the waist down.
I was still not wearing any underwear, so I was, in fact, naked from around the waist down. His hand felt warm and good against the soft flesh of my thighs. I spread my legs a bit in invitation. The way I was feeling right then, I couldn't have cared less had he used that strong male hand to masturbate me to a climax right there. The rest of the dinners could just go get their own girls.
Brian didn't bring me anywhere near a climax, but he did tease me enough to have me biting my lip to keep the moans of pleasure in. Then the waiter came with our salads. After the waiter ground fresh pepper over mine, he departed and I felt something pressing against my thigh. I looked down to see the pair of handcuffs laying on my right thigh. The temptation was too great. My hands went down below the table edge. In a few seconds my wrists were joined by blackened steel, clicked quite solidly down. Then I turned to Brian, moving my hands toward him so he could not miss seeing what I had done. I whispered to him, "Hope you have the key."
"And if I don't?" he responded casually.
"That's fine with me." Funny thing is that I meant it. Right then I would have happily stood up and walked out with Brain, allowing all to see the tight steel that held my wrists prisoner.
Instead I ate my salad, carefully bringing both hands up with each forkful, glancing nervously around to make sure no one was noticing my handicap. Brian had been wise in picking black handcuffs, they didn't show in the dim light anything like a bright, shiny silver pair would. I finished my salad without giving myself away and was pretty proud of myself.
I held my hands under the table when the waiter took away the salad plates and came with the main course. It was a little awkward cutting my steak with joined hands but I managed pretty well. It wasn't too hard, and soon I was cutting and eating without having to think about it.
As the food began to fill my stomach, I sobered up a bit. Enough to wonder why I was doing such a silly thing as trying to eat dinner in a fancy restaurant with my hands cuffed. And my dress up around my waist. But there was nothing I could do about it right then, so I simply finished dinner, trying to keep the handcuffs below the table as much as possible.
After dinner was finished, Brian ordered brandy for both of us. I sipped mine and was surprised to find it was such a strong drink. After a couple sips, Brian told me to put my hands over by him. He unlocked my right hand. For a minute or so I was free but with the cuffs still attached to my left wrist. I let it sit on my lap while I sipped brandy with my right. Then Brian leaned a bit towards me and told me to slide forward a bit and put my hands behind my back. With a fast beating heart I obeyed.
When his hand came out from behind me, my wrists were again locked together but behind my back this time. I eased myself back as best I could and looked at him. I was quite helpless in that there was no way I was going to get up and walk out. Nor was I going to ask for help from anyone. And I certainly couldn't use my hands. I wondered if I would simply sit there until Brian finished his brandy and then he would unlock me so we could go. Or did he have something else in mind... ?
He had something else in mind. His hand casually passed over my right thigh and descended between my legs. I spread them a little wider and gave out with a small gasp has his fingers touched my pussy. Expertly he spread my labia and found a part of me that was very sensitive and already primed. He began gently teasing me, slowly and with the lightest of touches. But it was effective, oh boy, was it effective! I could feel the warmth in my loins flaming up several notches.
For a while I tried not to react but that was becoming harder and harder to do. Soon I was biting my lip to keep from gasping at the wonderful tingling sensations racing into my body. One finger slipped down to find my love tunnel juicy and ready. It teased me there, just entering then wiggling up and down. I wanted to shove my hips forward and force that finger deep inside me but held back. It was hard to understand how Brian could simply sit there, sipping brandy and making casual conversation, none of which I heard at all.
I leaned back, spread my legs a bit wider and closed my eyes. The feeling was getting so good that I no longer cared if anyone saw me acting strangely or not. But part of me knew that the game was not to make a fool of myself and Brian, but to hold out, to try and take whatever he could dish out to me without breaking down into obvious orgasm. It was not easy. He teased, I fought down wonderful sensations, he stroked me, I blushed and whined as quietly as I could when the excitement grew beyond what I could keep in.
It finally happened. Brian could have just excited me and then withdrawn his hand. That would have been torture enough and made the whole evening an incredible experience in excitement and frustration. But he sensed that I was controlling my reactions and went for the big show. I couldn't fight it, the sensations of being handcuffed and his fingers teasing my most sensitive place drove me beyond ability to hide it. I climaxed. My pussy opened up like a flower, radiating heat and wonderful feelings all through my body. I had all I could do to keep from crying out and arching my body forward against his hand.
I think I did make some noise. My eyes were closed and I was fighting to suppress the shivers that raced down my spine. When I opened my eyes and could focus them, I noticed that a couple of the other dinners were looking my way. Or so it seemed. It was hard to tell in the dim lights.
I leaned close to Brian and whispered in his ear, "You're a bastard."
"Oh, you knew my parents?"
We both smiled. A hand slipped in behind my back and unlocked one half of the handcuffs. I brought my arms forward, keeping the handcuffs below the edge of the table. He unlocked the other cuff and made them disappear into his pocket.
We finished our brandy and left. I tried to look at the others to see if anyone had noticed my little display of sexual excitement and was taking particular interest in me, but many of the male heads turned my direction and it was hard to tell if they knew something or were just looking at a pretty girl.
"I promised that you could have me for the night," I said as soon as we were in his house. "And I meant it. How would you like me, nude or clothed?" I reached down to take the hem of that dress, but I paused when the edge was just about to show my golden pubic hair.
Brian smiled and shook his head. "You're really something. Nude it is."
I pulled the dress off and tossed it on a couch. Suddenly his strong arms were picking me up and I found myself being carried into the bedroom. It was nice.
It would be nice to say that we made long, slow, glorious love until the wee small hours. But my mischievous alter ego would not let such conventional happiness be mine. So soon as he lay me down on the bed and began to take off his clothes, I scurried to my kneel and asked, "What? No ropes? I thought you know how to keep a girl in line."
Shut up, I told myself. Myself didn't listen. "I'm feeling catty. You had better at least tie my hands so I can't scratch you." I illustrated with a clawing motion in the air.
"Catty? We'll see about that." He went for the ropes and I smiled.
A few minutes later my wrists were crossed and tightly bound behind my back. Then Brian continued undressing while I wiggled around on the bed, hardly able to contain my desire. I moaned and posed this way and that, and in general acted like a cat in heat. When he came to me, I was quite hot and ready.
Where I had thought of long, slow lovemaking on the drive home, we made love fast, hard and very intense. It was as wonderful as it was unexpected. We climaxed at about the same time, which makes it extra nice. I might have been little Miss Innocent, but I was learning a lot about sex.
Later we lay in each other arms for a long time, my hands still bound behind me and my being very content to leave them that way. Brian talked a bit about himself, at my prompting, but really didn't say too much. I got the impression that he was actually a rather shy man. At least he was a wealthy man, having inherited a considerable fortune from his parents, but also having doubled it through his own business skills. And, as a woman will always try to ascertain, he had never been married and had no current girl friends. Which was why, he admitted, he had suddenly taken it in his head to cruise down to "hooker's alley" and pick up a little sex. Which is also, I gathered, not his usual practice.
He wanted to know some things about me, but I parried most of his questions with evasions or lies. I felt comfortable with him but the part of me that steps in when I least expect it or want it, kept me from telling much about the real me. I found myself playing the role of a prostitute whether or not I liked it.
Later we made love again, this time slower and much more relaxed. It was fine with both of us taking our times, and more satisfying in some ways than the hurried passion of the first time. He had more lasting power than any man I had ever known. There were times when I wondered if he would ever have a climax. I wasn't too experienced, but it seemed to me from what other girls had told me in high school, that Brian was stretching it out far longer than most men.
Then came the moment when we were both satisfied, sleepy, and knew that the lovemaking was over for that night. Brian took me in his arms, kissed me gently, and told me that it was time for me to be tied up for the night. I pointed out -- quite reasonably, I thought -- that I was already tied, my hands still being secured behind my back, and that I really didn't need any more. That got me about as far as you think it got me. Nowhere.
He brought over his pile of ropes and I sighed in resignation to the inevitable. "How tight can you take it for the whole night?" he asked. That was good. It was my chance to plead pain and get tied up in something comfortable for the night. The prior night spent with my elbows tightly bound behind me was still very vivid in my memory.
"I like it tight," I said. Damn me! "You can tie my elbows together. Hogtie me, even, if you like."
He frowned. "I know you took that hogtie this afternoon pretty good and that lasted a few hours. But all night? Axe you sure?"
"I spent all of last night with my elbows tied together," I said truthfully. Perhaps he could tell that I was telling the truth, or perhaps he simply figured that I was asking for it and deserved everything I got. He untied my wrists, pausing after the ropes fell off to give me a chance to change my mind. I put my palms together and pulled my elbows in towards each other.
When he was finished my elbows were bound together very tightly and my wrists equally as snug. I sat on the bed and watched him binding my legs together without saying a word. Part of me was satisfied with what was happening, the other part disgusted at the first part. It's no fun having a split personality.
He made it, as I expected he would, into a hogtie by connecting my wrists to my ankles and pulling that rope until my hands were up against the back of my ankles. He tied the final knots up at my elbows and that reminded me that he was something of an expert, having tied other girls before. At least one Brenda by name, I think it was. He backed off and watched me. Obligingly, I wiggled, pulled and tugged, and rolled around a bit to show him that I was, indeed, quite tightly bound and helpless.
The covers were pulled back and I was shifted over until I was laying on my side on the sheets. Somehow I had expected him to toss me on the floor to spend the night in misery. That would have been appropriate for a girl was submissive as I obviously was. Instead he lay besides me and covered us both with the blanket. My breasts were pressed up against the side of his chest and my legs along side his body, at least down to my knees. My legs below that were bent backwards and tied up to my wrists. He put his arm under my head and rested his hand on my side. It was very comfortable laying there with my head on his shoulder. I felt asleep a contented woman.
In the middle of the night I awoke. For a minute I was confused as to where I was and what was happening. But the tightness of those ropes and the pain from my shoulders and arms informed me who, where and what. Brian was still next to me, sleeping comfortably. I stretched a bit, trying to ease the strain, but could not do much. I was really pretty helpless in that hogtie. So I lay just as I was, trying to keep still so I wouldn't wake up Brian.
I fell asleep again a few times, but didn't sleep too well. When the first grey light of dawn crept through the windows, I was awake. But I waited until the room had lightened enough to see details before I woke Brian.
I don't know if you've ever spent a whole night in a tight hogtie, but I can tell you that it's not that comfortable. I was hurting, plain and simple. Yet there was something about that treatment that did things to my body. Things like warming up my loins and filling me with desire that overrode the discomfort. Or maybe the discomfort and the helplessness it proclaimed were part of the stimulation. Whatever, I was homy and woke up the naked man next to me by kissing him passionately while pressing my breasts against his chest.
He responded and quickly his hands were squeezing my breasts and grabbing my ass. Then came decision time. I said not a word, but watched in silence as Brian chose between using my mouth as a sheath for that rigid rod of his, or untying my legs and putting it into the love tunnel already juicy and ready.
It didn't take him too long to untie my legs but he didn't waste any time with the ropes binding my arms. Which was fine with me. I had found that laying on arms bound with elbows together was very stimulating to me. As he pumped away inside me, the pressure of my weight on those bound arms was like an aphrodisiac to me, and perhaps to him. It was one of those fast, hard screwing of two young, hard bodies hungry for each other. And it was very good. Very good.
At my insistence, he untied me and drove me back to where my car was parked. My baby was still there, for which I was grateful. It was not the nicest part of town. I made it back to my apartment to change clothes and then rush to work without being more than fifteen minutes late. I put on a long sleeved blouse and slacks to hide the rope marks on my wrists and ankles.
Brian had asked for a way to get in touch with me and I gave him a false phone number. As I was getting out of my 380SL something fell on the ground. I reached down and found three thousand dollar bills rolled up and held with a rubber band. Brian must have put in on my seat when he leaned over to kiss me goodbye. He was a sweet guy. He didn't have to pay me, especially six times the usual rate. While I was driving to work, I had to remind myself that I wasn't a prostitute, even though it was surprisingly easy to fit into the role.
Later on, during a staff meeting that I had trouble keep my attention on, I realized that having been paid, I was by most reasoning a prostitute in legal and moral fact.
CHAPTER SIX - PUNISHMENT FOR A PROSTITUTE
The mystery was increasing. More unanswered questions piling up. How had I known where the prostitutes are to be found standing around on street comers? I was an innocent young girl who didn't know about such things. Well, okay, maybe I had seen some item on the news about prostitutes and it had stuck in the back of my mind where they were to be found. Maybe.
But there was still Maurice. How did I know who he was and what he liked?
What it added up to was that I wasn't going crazy. Which was a relief. Which left what was happening. Periodically I was being "taken over" by some kind of force which made me do things that I would never normally have done. The fact that I was coming to like some of those things was besides the point, I was still being compelled to do these highly erotic things.
The fact that I really liked Brian helped me feel not so nervous about this whole scene. Before this whole unbelievable turn of events had begun, I would have run away screaming at the thought of what I was now ready to willingly do. But those things that Brian did to me... Well, some were okay. Well, more than okay... Alright! I'm admit it, I liked what he did to me! There, that's out in the open. It had been uncomfortable being hogtied as long as I was. Very uncomfortable. But I had been so excited, so turned on in fact, that the discomfort had been worth all the pleasure. In fact, I wasn't so sure that the discomfort hadn't been adding to the pleasure in some indefinable way. All I know is that I felt very secure and loved when he was holding my naked and tied up body in his arms.
And that bit in the restaurant was something else! Making me climax right there in front of the whole restaurant while my hands were locked behind me and I couldn't do a thing about it! It was something incredible, that's for sure.
Maurice and Phil and Ken were nice men and I enjoyed what they did to me. But Brian was something else. Why does a woman take a liking to one man and not another? It would have been fine by me if my alter ego forced me back to Brian. But there had been no repeats so far, so that didn't look likely. And I had a very strong feeling that if I tried to visit Brian on my own, I would be stopped. Just thinking about it, I felt resistance.
So there I was. I went to my office and worked all week until Saturday was looming on the horizon. But what would this Saturday bring? While thinking about that over a salad Friday noon, it came to me that perhaps I could channel my compulsion into something more acceptable than the unknown. If I simply waited until Saturday night, heaven only knew where my alter ego would force me to go and what would happen to me. But perhaps I could push things in a way that I wanted. After all, the whole Sunday scene with Brian had been my idea. An experiment. I had - presented a chance and my alter ego took over. My rather nice time with Brian had resulted.
So Saturday night was coming and I was ready to try another experiment. All was ready. I had done some shopping that afternoon, picking up several very sexy outfits at some specialty shops in the mall. Perhaps my alter ego had guided me because a couple of the outfits were not something I would have picked by myself.
Laid out on the bed for selection was a pair of hot pants, actual hot pants, very, very short, very tight and made of rich blue velvet. Also laying there was a new dress of pink satin, tight fitting and very low cut in front and back. That was one of the outfits I didn't pick. Tacky.
There was also a pair of fishnet stockings, a see- through blouse of misty pale blue, an extremely short skirt of leather, and a very tiny black lack bra and panties set. The high heels I had brought before were on the floor. I figured between these things and what I had in the closet, my alter ego could pick something to please it.
I stood there, completely naked after my shower and fixing my hair, giving every opportunity for something other than me to pick out an outfit. After fifteen minutes I figured that the choice was going to be up to me. So I put on a pair of pantyhose, the hot pants, and the see- through blouse. The high heels finished the outfit and the girl in the mirror looked every bit the part of a hooker. And quite sexy. I picked up a small purse and slipped another purchase from that afternoon into it then went out to my car.
The evening air was cool after a warm spring day and I left the top down on my sports car. It was hard to believe that I was actually driving around in public with a blouse that left nothing to the imagination concerning my breasts, but I was. And I didn't have the feeling that my alter ego had anything to do with it. This was me doing it. Of course, I told myself that if I hadn't picked out something sexy and revealing, my alter ego would have.
The place to drive to wasn't hard to chose. That was the part of the experiment where, despite a feeling that I was not going to be allowed to get away with it, I was trying to guide my alter ego into an activity that I wanted. I drove up to Brian's house.
I parked on the street and sat there for a while looking at the large house. There were a couple lights on, so I figured someone -- hopefully Brian -- was home. Since he told me he wasn't married, I figured it was probably him. I was going to give my alter ego the chance to play, but with the man of my choice. I took my other purchase out of my purse and removed them from the box. In the dim street lights, they were shinny. And each cuff clicked loudly as I closed them around my wrists. With my wrists firmly locked into handcuffs in front of me, I tossed the box and purse on the floor and got out of my car. I was going to surprise Brian.
It might be a surprise, but I was sure Brian would take finding a sexy-dressed woman wearing handcuffs at his front door in stride. And if he wasn't alone, so what? The worse I'd do is surprise his date for the night. Which might be fun.
As I approached his front door, I waited for something to happen. Nothing did. The thought occurred to me that my alter ego might not kick in tonight at all. I had simply assumed that it would, it had every Saturday night so far. Well, I told myself with a sigh, if it doesn't show up, I'll just have to wing it. Spending the night with Brian, even without my alter ego calling the shots, could be fun. I was sure that Brian was capable of planning out the evening without mischievous promptings from me.
I reached the front door and lifted shackled wrists to knock when I froze. My hand just wouldn't come down to strike the massive wooden door. I tried to force my hand to knock, then to push the door bell after failing that, but my hands wouldn't obey. I then tried to call out, to let him know I was there, ready and willing. But I couldn't.
My alter ego, whatever it really was, didn't want me in Brian's arms that night, damn it! I sensed anger but it wasn't my anger at being blocked from what I wanted. It was anger that I would try to push events the way I wanted. I felt that my alter ego was going to have no part with my plans and would shortly come up with plans of its own.
And it did. After a minute of silent battle while standing on Brian's door step, I lost and was walking back to my car. I wanted to cry, which surprised me a bit. Apparently I had wanted to be with Brian more than I realized.
Back in the car, I retrieved the box the handcuffs had come in and extracted the key. After unlocking my wrists, I put the cuffs in my purse and drove away. For a while I seemed to be driving aimlessly, with no destination. Then auto pilot kicked in again and I was going someplace.
I parked the car in almost exactly the same place that I had the prior Sunday. The street was busier on Saturday night, more cars cruising slowly along, and more girls standing around or slowly walking the pavement, wiggling their asses and advertising their wares. I was disappointed that my alter ego would want to go the prostitute route again, but cheered up when I remembered that it had allowed me to meet Brian. I wiggled my bottom out to the main street and leaned against a convenient wall.
There was another girl not far away, and I got a nasty look from her. I ignored her. From what I could see, there were plenty of cars slowly moving along as their occupants viewed the merchandise on display. I begin to wonder what kind of adventure I would have that night.
Several times a car would come to a stop directly in front of me and I would stroll up to lean over and give the driver a good look at my breasts. But each time I turned the man down, and a few of them weren't bad looking. I also turned down a car filled with four teenage boys, all drooling. And a car with two gorgeous woman in it. That might have been an adventure, but my alter ego turned them down, too.
Was this it? I began to ask myself, to spend the night standing on a street corner, turning down customers all night? Bummer!
But that was not what was in store for me. I realized later that my alter ego knew exactly what it was doing and had maneuvered me into exactly what happened. After an hour or so a car stopped and two men got out. I stayed against my wall as they walked up, not wanting to even consider them as customers. They stood on each side of me for a few seconds, not saying a thing. I began to get a bad feeling inside. This was not the way customers acted. Then I was taken by the arms and lead towards the car. I resisted but with a man holding each arm I could do nothing. And I was sure that screaming would do no good. The only people who would hear me were prostitutes and customers of prostitutes, neither of which would come to my aid or call the cops.
I was shoved into the back seat of the car and one of the men got in with me. Quickly, and with experienced hands, I was turned sideways and my arms pulled behind my back. I felt ropes going around my wrists and wanted to fight but was strangely helpless. It seemed as if my alter ego was still in control and wanted me to be taken prisoner by these two strangers.
When we drove away from the curve a minute later, my hands were tied behind me and my ankles tied together. By Brian's standards, it was a simple piece of bondage, but it got the job done, I was helpless enough. As we pulled away, I saw the girl who had been next to me grinning.
The ride was short and ended when the car drove into a garage attacked to some kind of warehouse or something. The inside was dark so I couldn't see much. I was pulled out of the car, set on my feet, then picked up and carried through a door. My heart was beating fast and my mouth going dry with fear. This was not a normal prostitute- client relationship, I could tell even with my limited experience in such matters.
I was taken to an office, a rather nice one considering that the outside of the building was nothing worth mentioning. The carpet was thick, the walls covered in nice oak, and the desk large enough to play ping-pong on. I was set on my bound feet and helped to keep my balance by one hand on my arm. Then we waited.
The man behind the desk looked up from some papers. He was middle aged, balding, and had the mild looks of an account, including glasses. He settled back in his chair and took off those glasses. His eyes were a watery pale blue, almost the same shade as my see-through blouse. When he spoke, his manner was mild and soft spoken.
"You were working my territory," he said. "I don't allow no girls to work unless they're my girls. Freelance and amateurs ruin the trade." His facial expression didn't seem very put out by my transgression into his territory, but his words said otherwise. "I'll have to do something about this."
What "something" was worried me. I wanted to speak out, to tell him that it was all a mistake, and that I would be happy to get out of this territory as fast as I could. But nothing came out. I had the feeling that my face was set into a faint sneer when I wanted it to show just how fearful and really meek I was.
"Earl, take her down to the special room and show her what happens to girls who take work away from my girls. Afterwards, bring her back. When she understands how serious we are about his, we'll talk. She's pretty enough, maybe I'll be generous and let her become one of my girls."
His faint smile at that last utterance didn't make me feel very good about my future.
I was picked up and carried out. There were stairs going down and a passage so poorly lit that these two men must have known the way by heart. Then I was in the "special room" and I knew immediately that I didn't want to be there.
It wasn't a large room, maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet. But it was below ground, and there were no windows. None at all. The walls were concrete, bare and impersonal. The ceiling held only one light hanging from a cord. There was a small metal bed with a beat up mattress, a thick lead pipe post in one comer set into the concrete floor and braced to the ceiling with metal brackets. There was also a metal chair that appeared to have its legs set into the concrete floor. And there was a wooden box next to the chair. The box was filled with lengths of rope, mostly looking dirty and well used, handcuffs, chains of different types, and a couple whips that also looked well- used. I was sure I was not going to like this.
While one man held my arms from behind, the other grabbed the front of my blouse and ripped it right off me. I was surprised by the action and gasped loudly. The material, being rather sheer, parted easily under his strong hand but did hurt my shoulders where material resisted a bit and dug in. My hot pants were not ripped from my body, they were cut off with short, vicious jerks from a knife. The pantyhose were also ripped off, including the high heels which sort of fell off as I was lifted to allow him to pull the pantyhose off my feet.
I was breathing hard and very scared. These men meant to hurt me, that was for sure. And what scared me even more was the professional way they were going about it. Had they been drooling and making jokes about my naked body, and obviously eager to get their hands on me, I would have been scared but not nearly as much as their quiet, professional manner made me. I got the feeling that they had done this before -- perhaps many times.
I was lifted up and set down on the metal chair with my arms over the back of it. One man held me down, pressing my bare flesh against the cold metal while the other one untied the ropes from my hands. My wrists had been crossed, but he took those ropes off and immediately retied them with the palms together. Being somewhat more experienced at such things now, I knew that meant my elbows would be bound together. And they were. Tightly. Very tightly, as if the bondage itself was meant to hurt.
My wrists were tied down to something on the bottom of the chair and pulled very hard until the back of the chair was digging into the soft flesh of my armpits. I wanted to cry out, to beg them not to do this to me, but was too scared for that. Or maybe my alter ego was keeping me from talking. I had never been so scared in my life so I couldn't tell if I was reacting normally or not.
My ankles were then untied and my legs savagely pushed apart. Each man took an ankle and tied a rope around it. Then my legs were pulled back alongside the chair until my feet were at the back of the chair. They tied my ankles to the back legs of the chair, up high near the seat. It spread my knees apart and made the edge of the seat cut into my thighs but they didn't care. When the knots were tied and done, my legs were very wide spread and held tightly that way. It was rapidly becoming a painful ordeal just from the way I was bound.
One of the men casually went to the box and picked up a length of rope which he doubled up in his hand until the loops were only a couple feet long. He stood directly in front of me.
"You can scream all you want. These walls are soundproof," he said. He was not being dramatic, just stating a fact, and it was all the more scary because of that.
I was certain these men were very experienced at making a girl feel pain. "You can beg and plead all you want," he continued. "But you have to understand that you will be hurt. That is what the boss wants, that you will be hurt enough so you understand that you can't come into his territory and take business away from his girls. Richardo...." The other man so addressed, bent down into the box and came up with a small jar. Then he put on a thin rubber glove also found in the box. He unscrewed the jar and took a gob of cream onto his two fingers. With his ungloved hand, he spread apart my labia so he could apply the gop directly onto the tender flesh of that very sensitive placed. I was sitting down, but the way my legs were wide spread made most of my pussy available to him. His hand returned to the jar for another gob. That was shoved between me and the seat so that a good amount got onto my pussy. All I could feel was the coolness of the cream.
Richardo finished his task and returned the jar and glove to the box. The other man, I sort of knew his name was Earl, was still standing in front of me with that rope in his hand. Without warning he suddenly swung the rope. I gasped as the cotton cord hit my breasts, racking across both of them. It stung.
Earl then began a systemic whipping my breasts with that coiled up rope. He hit them across the nipples, on the sides, the top and even the undersides. The pain was not terrible but bad enough to make me cry. I asked him not to do it any more but was ignored, as he had promised. I did not count how many times he lashed my breasts, but it was enough to make all of them string and bum.
Part of my mind was telling me that this torture, painful though it might be, was actually very mild compared to what he could do. If whipping my breasts with a rope was all I had to endure, I would consider myself lucky. But then what was that cream smeared onto and into my sex?
What indeed? Near the end of the mild whipping of my breasts I begin to get an idea. For some stupid reason, that whipping of my breasts, perhaps along with my being tightly bound to that chair, had made my loins get all heated up and my nipples become erect, some of the signs of beginning sexual arousal. I was beginning to understand that being hurt can make a girl aroused, even though it doesn't make sense.
But something else was happening, something much more than my pussy getting hot with sexual excitement. It was getting hot from something else, and that cream was a good candidate. When Earl saw that I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable down below, he stopped the lashing of my breasts. Both of them stood back to watch, and that didn't make me feel very good about what was to come.
It was fire, pure and simple fire consuming my pussy. All the tender, sensitive flesh down there was rapidly becoming an inferno. I squirmed and wiggled but that did no good. My sex was on fire and it wasn't in the usual sexual sense. That cream, whatever it was, was burning my skin. No wonder Richardo had used a rubber glove, that stuff burned like fire!
My agony lasted an eternity. Have you ever had part of you bum and you couldn't do anything about it? Sort of like an incredibly strong itch that you couldn't scratch, but much, much worse. That whole area was on fire and it was terrible. I remember moaning and groaning and whining with the growing fire, and struggling against the ropes. All I could move was my hips, my ankles and arms being very tightly and solidly bound down. Before long I was banging my bottom against the chair in agony.
And not long after that I was screaming. I didn't want to but there are some things that you just can't stand and have to do something about. So I screamed, not too loud at first but more as the burning grew. There was a fear that this cream was doing some kind of permanent damage to my sensitive skin. I remember offering those two men anything if they would just stop the burning. I promised some pretty explicit sexual acts, a couple of which I hadn't even heard of before. But they did not reply. I think they were smiling at my agony but was too occupied with my own suffering to watch their reactions.
The burning consumed itself eventually, but only after having driven me near the brink of insanity. Or so it seemed. Thanks to my alter ego, I had been getting used to being tied up and feeling pretty helpless. But the suffering I did while tied to that chair was something else, a whole new level of helplessness.
When I stopped struggling violently and settled down to random wiggles and twitching of muscles, Earl took up his rope and began whipping the tops of my thighs. I think he was doing it mostly to add some marks to my body because the pain I felt from those lashes was not really bad.
When the fire had died down to smoldering embers, they untied me from the chair, at least my ankles and the rope holding my arms down. Then they dragged me to the pipe and pushed my head down until they could force me up against the pipe, my arms raised high behind me and against the cold metal. The back of my head was against the pipe as I bent forwards, so that I was looking back through my legs. They then wrapped rope around my wrists and elbows until my arms were lashed to the pipe.
It was an awkward position to be tied into but very effective, I soon found out, for two things. The first is that I couldn't move or get myself out of it. My bound arms held my body. My legs could move a little from one side to the other but that was all. I was stuck. The other fact I soon found out was that this position made my bottom very vulnerable.
It was one of those whips from the box. Each stroke of the leather thong across the soft flesh of my bottom brought fresh agony and a scream from my throat. I did not try to hold back the screams, this was too much pain to do anything but scream and hope that you might faint.
But Earl knew what he was doing. I did not faint. I suffered through a good whipping of my bottom. And when he had covered most of my bottom, he added a dozen strokes across the backs of my thighs. I'm sure that they got a kick out of the dance I did each time my bottom exploded into fiery pain, but I didn't care.
The girl they untied from the pipe was a sobbing wreck, a girl reduced by pain to something who would have done anything they said, no matter what, just to stop the pain from coming.
My arms were still bound behind me when they pushed me down on the seat. I cried loudly as my tortured bottom came into hard contact with that metal chair but they didn't care. For some reason beyond me, they put my high heels on my feet, but ignored the tattered remains of my blouse and hot pants. I was led back up the stairs to the boss' office.
He looked me up and down. Earl and Richardo turned me around so he could get a good view of all sides. I must have looked a mess, but his expression showed no emotions, least of all pity.
"Now you know what happens to girls who stick their asses not my territory," he informed. "And the next time will be much worse." He paused to let that sink in. "You're not bad looking. Good body. How'd you like to work for me? Good money, and you're protected. It's a lot better than the alternative...." Suddenly my alter ego kicked in. I took a step forward until I was standing at the edge of his desk. I spread my legs a bit so I was solidly planted on the carpet. Then I looked him right in the eye. "Carlos," I said firmly, "you're a bastard, always have been, and always will be. I'd sooner go to hell than work for you."
Carlos frowned slightly then nodded to Earl. Suddenly I felt hands on my arms and I was being bent forward until my breasts were pushed hard into the wood surface of Carlos' desk. Then a dozen swift, hard strokes of a strong male hand landed on my bare bottom. They would have hurt under any condition, but with my bottom all sore from the whipping, they hurt something terrible. I tried to keep the screams in but was not entirely successful.
When I was allowed back up, there were fresh tears on my cheeks and his desk. "What a big man you are, Carlos, to have naked, helpless girl beaten by your men."
"So you don't want to work for me. Fine. Just don't come around my territory again." Carlos made a waving motion of dismal with his hand. I felt hands on my arms again.
"By the way," I said, "how's your prick? Still got all those holes where that redhead nearly bit it off?" I was smiling sweetly.
Carlos stood suddenly up and I thought for a second he was going reach across the desk and slap me. But he gathered himself together.
"Dump her someplace where she won't be getting home for a while," he instructed his men, and I was dragged out of his office.
The ride in the big black car was long. I was in the back seat with Earl, my arms still bound behind me with the elbows together. They had tied my ankles when I was shoved in, so I wasn't in any condition to try and get out of the car and run. I was still naked but the back of the car had those darkened windows and I was pretty sure no one could see my nudity.
My ass was sore as hell and hurt against the leather seats but I was glad that the cream had finally died down totally. That stuff was powerful. I wondered if it was some kind of irritant and if my flesh had been harmed by it.
It was well after midnight when we finally stopped the car. I had been trying to keep track of where we were driving but was lost after we left the city and took to back roads. This was some place in the mountains far inland from the coast. The door was opened and I was pulled out and left to stand there on bound ankles. Earl was looking around but at what I couldn't tell. It was a moonless night and all I could see were stars. All else around me was black, save for the two men illuminated by the car's inside light, and some trees lit up by the headlights.
He seemed satisfied and turned to me. "The boss, he didn't say to kill you, so we won't," he said. I felt a bit of relief at that because I had been wondering about my fate. "But he wants you to learn a lesson. You'll have a long way to walk back from here." He looked me over from bound ankles and high heels up to lightly marked breasts and thighs. Then at the back of me where the more serious whip marks criss-crossed my bottom and the backs of my thighs. "Don't pay to mess with the boss," he said.
"Carlos is an asshole and someday someone is going to put him down, hard," I said.
Earl grinned. "Maybe," he agreed. "But tonight you've got other problems." I was silent but agreed with him. I had a sinking feeling what the next problem would be.
But I was wrong. I had feared that they would simply drive off, leaving me naked and bound in the middle of some mountains. Instead they untied my legs and pushed me over to the trunk of the car. Richardo pushed me down until my breasts were hard against the trunk and held me there while Earl unzipped his pants. Just leaving me alone was not enough for those two. Not that I could blame then in one way, after all they had just spent the better part of the evening torturing a pretty, sexy, and naked woman and that had to have some effect on them. If they were normal, healthy men.
And they were. First Earl, then Richardo raped me as I lay over the trunk. They took me from behind and did it hard and quick. Which was good from one point of view, it minimized the amount of time they were banging their bodies against my very sore, whip-marked bottom.
Then they left me standing there, arms bound, naked, pussy dripping with their cum, and lost.
CHAPTER SEVEN - LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS
I wanted to cry but the tears were all dried up so I just stood there in the dark, watching the disappearing tail lights. After a while I looked up at the sky and wished I were one of those people who could tell directions and the time just by looking at the stars. All I could tell was that there were a lot of them.
Very slowly my eyes got used to the dark and I could make out vague shapes, sort of slightly different shades of black in the dim starlight. But that didn't help much. The road that we had followed for a while was dirt, ill- defined and impossible to follow in the dark. But I began walking in the direction I had seen the tail lights go.
Oddly, I still had on my high heels. They were the only bit of clothing I had left but I was grateful for something on my feet. The ground was hard and rocky. I had been walking only a few minutes when I realized that I had left the road and was walking on grass. I immediately stopped and considered what to do. I didn't dare lose that road, it might well be the only path out of these mountains. I could turn around and find it again but following it in this darkness would be hard. Instead I found a place where the wild grass seemed a little thicker and lowered myself to the ground. With bound arms it wasn't easy but I flattened a patch to make a bed and lay down on it.
The air was cool and it would have been nice to have a blanket but I didn't. It would have been nice to have hands that could cover me with grass for a blanket, but I didn't' have that either. Hoping that there were no wild animals who would be dangerous to a helpless, naked female, I tired to go to sleep.
For a while sleep alluded me. This had been one rough night and there were times during it when I feared that I was not going to survive. I still wasn't certain about that. Carlos was obviously some kind of crime boss, at least over the local prostitutes, and he probably wouldn't think anything of killing me. He hadn't given much thought to having me tortured and dumped out here. It seemed to me that he didn't really worry about doing anything about my treatment. It was possible that I would be able to walk out of here and get home. He hadn't seemed concerned that I would run to the police, which meant that he wasn't afraid of them. As I thought about that, it occurred to me that he couldn't very easily keep his girls on the street in obvious prostitution without the police at least turning their heads the other way. Which meant he had at least some of the police in his pocket. No wonder he didn't worry about what a hooker would say to the police.
Which suggested that it might be better if I didn't go to the police. At the best, it might get me nowhere. At worst, it might make Carlos change his mind about getting rid of a rival hooker permanently. I made a note to avoid the police on this one.
Which brought my thinking back to why had I done this in the first place. My alter ego knew about prostitutes, enough to get me picked up as one by Brian the weekend before. Suddenly I realized that all which had befallen me that night was not random chance. My alter ego had known what would happen and set me up! And the reason wasn't hard to figure. I had tired to steer it into a game that I wanted, not what it wanted. So it punished me by putting me where it knew damned well I would be picked up and "taught a lesson" by Carlos. Damn!
I felt asleep with troubled thoughts about this becoming more than an oddball sexual adventure each Saturday night. This was serious, as my sore ass attested to.
* * *
The morning sunlight awoke me. I must have been tired because the morning was well along and the sun was way up when I finally awoke. It was not easy getting to my feet with arms still bound behind my back. Wanting to keep the high heels on didn't help, either. But I didn't know how far I was going to have to hike and any shoes are better than no shoes.
I looked around to find I was in a small valley surrounded by low hills dotted with clumps of trees. They weren't pine trees, so I guess I wasn't all that high up in the mountains. There was the trees, the wild grass, and the road -- that was all. With a sigh, I started out along the road.
This marked the third night during which I had spent the whole time with my arms bound behind me and the elbows together. It was becoming a habit I could do without. Although with Brian's arms around me it wasn't so bad. But this morning had not been spent in a comfortable bed, instead laying on the cold, hard ground. I was stiff, my shoulders hurt and my elbows didn't feel much better. I've since found out that many women can't even touch their elbows together behind their backs, let alone stay bound that way for hours or all night. I guess I'm just lucky.
The road was dirt, and I had to watch carefully where I stepped because of the rocks and holes. It was an effort getting back up to my feet and I didn't wish to fall to the ground too often. I was hurting and dirty but mostly I wanted a drink of water.
It was sometime after mid-day when the jeep came along.
I was still walking down the dirt road with no end in sight when I heard the sound of a motor behind me. I stood off the road and eagerly awaited my savior.
He was young, probably only eighteen which made him younger than I, had a four or five day growth of beard and a silly grin on his face. Which I had no doubt was caused by the sight of a naked woman with her arms bound behind her.
"Oh, please, can you take me out of these mountains?" I begged as soon as the jeep came to a halt.
He stayed in the jeep, just eyeing my body up and down. "Gosh, gal, you sure got yourself into something. How'd you come to be way out here like... like that?"
"It's a long story," I said, not really wanting to tell it. "It's a sorority initiation," I offered lamely. "My sorority sisters did this to me. I'm suppose to walk back to the highway and go through the embarrassment of being seen naked like this." Pretty poor story, I thought but he seemed to be buying it.
"Well...." His eyes were fixed on my pubic patch. I wished I could cover it with my hands but that wasn't possible. "Maybe I could give you a drive. But it's a long ways to the highway. And I wasn't really going that way...." He was fishing for the right way to say he wanted a reward. "If you'll drive me back to my home, I'll be ever so nice to you...." I put in my husky, sexy, come-and-get- it voice.
"With your arms tied like that, gal? Gosh, that would be different."
"With my arms tied like this," I agreed with a sigh. His eyes were popping right out of his head and his tongue was hanging out on the steering wheel.
"Hop in. There's a place just up ahead where we can do it."
I got into the jeep, carefully because of the lack of hands and he took off. "Just ahead" turned out to be a few miles and I was afraid every inch of the way that we were going to crash. He kept looking at my body instead of at the road. Finally we reached a patch of trees and he pulled the jeep into them. Then he got out and took a sleeping bag from the back of the jeep. That was laid out in the shade of a large oak. Not being much of a gentleman, he didn't offer to help me out of the jeep, so I had to make my own way over to the sleeping bag.
His technique was to grab parts of me hard, as if a girl couldn't respond to gentle touches. I was guided down to the sleeping bag and lay there while he did his thing. Maybe his technique worked with the high school girls, but I found it crude after Brian's gentle but firm lovemaking. Even Phil the fisherman was kind compared to these young hands on my body.
He started out slowly and cautiously, but picked up speed when I found that I wasn't fighting him or even protesting. After what I had been through the night before, he wasn't so bad.
"Gosh, your ass is all marked up. gal!"
"The girls gave me a spanking with a belt before they put me out here." He didn't question that, which was good. I was making it sound like the sorority-from-hell. But he was more interested in trying to fit all of my breast into his mouth, an impossibility if ever there was one.
Except for sucking on my nipples -- and biting my breasts -- he understood nothing of oral sex on a woman. As soon as he had worked me up enough to make my pussy juicy, he was shoving that rock-hard prick into me and pumping away with all the vigor of youth.
The surprising part was that I responded and it did feel good. He came rather suddenly, before I really got worked up anywhere near a climax, but at least it had felt good while it lasted. For a while we lay there, he satisfied and I frustrated, but eventually he stood up and pulled up his pants. I struggled to my feet.
For a while he just stood there looking at me and I began to worry that he was going to just drive off and leave me just as he found me. Then it occurred to me that he was trying to figure out some way of keeping me naked and tied, at least until he could screw me again.
While he was trying to decide, I put in my pitch, "You've had your way with me, big boy, and it was good. But could you please untie my arms? I've been tied like this all night and it hurts." I smiled at him as if I were a girl who was very satisfied with his wonderful sexual performance.
It worked. With a big grin he turned me around and began working at the knots. I sighed. I was getting untied and that was good, but I had paid a price. Funny thing is that I didn't feel my alter ego kick in at any time. Paying for freedom with my body had been totally my own idea.
It was so good to bring my arms around in front of me. The red pressure marks were deep, especially above my elbows, and my hands tingled with pins and needles from returning circulation, but it was good to have arms back.
"Gosh, they really tied you. I could hardly get the knots off," he said. Then he handed me the rope. I guess he figured it was mine. I took it and thanked him for untying me.
"Would you happen to have something I can get dressed in?" I asked, resisting the urge to cover myself with the now freed hands.
"Well...." I could tell that he had some clothes in that backpack but just didn't want to have my body covered. It could well be I was the finest naked woman he had ever seen.
"I'll ride along with you naked," I offered, "if you'll give me something to wear when we get to where there might be other cars. You wouldn't want the police seeing you driving around with a naked girl in your car, would you?"
"Hell, the sheriff would love that. Pa would kill me. Sure, gal, when we get near the paved road, I'll give you something."
"Thank you." I immediately got into the jeep as a sign that we should be going.
A few more miles and he came to a stop again. "The paved road is just over the hill. A lot of cars use that." He paused to look at my breasts again. "You sure are pretty," he commented.
It was obvious that he didn't want to have all that nudity taken from his sight. If I pressed the issue, he might just kick me out of the jeep and drive off. With a sigh, I knew that the easiest way to get his mind off sex was to satisfy his hormone-driven teenage body.
"Unzip them pants, boy," I said. "And get that thing out here."
Apparently this teenager had never had oral sex performed on him. He kept moaning and making stupid comments about how good it felt. I took his rod in one hand to hold it still while I licked and sucked on the end. Sweet little Miss Innocent had learned a lot in the last few weeks, especially about what pleased a man. It wasn't long before he was trembling all over, yelling "gawd damn" loudly, and shooting his wad into my mouth. I swallowed it.
As he lay there recovering from what must have been an incredible experience for one of his tender years, I went to the back and helped myself to a pair of jeans several sizes to large for me and a shirt, also too large. They probably looked silly with the high heels but it was better than nothing.
"There a bus stop on that road?" I asked.
"Huh?" He wasn't coming back to earth too quickly.
I repeated the question. "Yeah, a bus stop."
"Good. How much is the fare to San Diego?"
'"Bout ten dollars," he said.
"Good. Give me ten dollars."
"Gosh...." The mention of money brought him back quickly.
"Or would you rather take me to the sheriff? I could tell him what happened and he'll help me. Of course, I'd have to tell him what happened between us...."
"NO! I mean, I'll take you to the bus stop. Here's some money."
He gave me more than enough money for the fare. Amazing what the mere mention of the sheriff does to these rustic country boys.
I made it home late that night, after taking the bus to near where I had my car parked. It was good to be back home. I tossed off the teenager's clothes and deposited them in the trash. There was a slight pang of guilt at having taken his clothes and money, but it passed quickly when I remembered that I had paid for them with my body. Twice, in fact. He was getting quality merchandise cheaply, I thought.
Then it occurred to me that trading my sexual services for money made me a prostitute again. Well, tough! I did what I had to, and that was all there was to it. I took a shower and got to bed. Had to go to work the next morning.
CHAPTER EIGHT - A SEANCE AND A DOMINANT LADY
I had some serious thinking to do the next night. It had been one thing when my alter ego had simply gotten me into sexual situations I would not normally have done. But what had happened with this Carlos dude was something else. My bottom was still very sore and had been giving me trouble all day. But worse was the very real possibility that a whipping and dumping in the mountains was nothing compared to what might have happened to me. I could have been killed.
Something was going to have to be done! And before Saturday night.
It was possible that I had evoked the dangerous act of invading the land of hookers by trying to force my alter ego into a night with Brian instead of whatever she wanted. And I found myself thinking of whatever force this was that took over my body as "she." If I had simply gone along for the ride with whatever she wanted, I might have simply had a fairly pleasant night with some strange man. Probably tied up and maybe spanked or whipped with a belt, but still not life-threatening. But could I be sure of that?
I had to do something.
If I wasn't going crazy, and I was pretty sure I wasn't, then whatever was taking over me was something outside myself. Logical. Okay, so what can take over a person and make them do things they normally wouldn't? Two possibilities came to mind: a demon or a ghost. Now, I'll admit, I don't know much about demons but don't they tend to turn you into a foul-mouthed, levitating, snarling beast? Like that teenager girl in the movie? Well, that didn't seem too much like what I was doing.
So that leaves us with a ghost. I vaguely remember reading stories about ghosts taking over live people -- at least for short periods. Which sounds about right for what was happening to me. So what I had been calling my alter ego was really a ghost who took over my body whenever she wanted to use it... Sure! Well, it didn't sound like a very logical explanation to me either, but it was the best I had to go on. And I had to do something.
So it was off to Madam Natasha's. Madam Natasha is the fortune teller who runs that little shop down on Mullberry Avenue. Seemed to me that I remember passing by many times and that among the other signs in her window, there was one that said, "seances."
Now I never believed in ghosts. Sure my mother used to tell me all the time about ghosts in her home country and about the time that her dead sister came to stand at the end of her bed at exactly the moment she died across the country. But she also told me that sex wasn't fun and I should never do it. So much for my Mother's advise.
Madam Natasha looked like a gypsy, which is good because that is what she was trying to look like. She had long black hair, European features of some kind (I'm no good at telling one country from another), a shawl over her shoulders, and more rings on her fingers than Ringo Starr.
Her parlor was dark, lit only by candles and filled with miscellaneous junk designed to look like the inside of a gypsy's wagon. Or something. She waved me to a seat on the other side of her small table and looked at me over her honest-to-goodness crystal ball.
"Want your fortune told?" she asked in a heavy accent. "I can tell if your man is true to you, if you're going to find love, and other things."
"I want a seance," I told her. She lifted one eyebrow. "I want to find out if a ghost is haunting me." The eyebrow went up even higher.
"I may be able to help you," she said with a faint smile. Then she named a price that should have, included dancing ghosts and full color souvenir program. I paid. "Take my hands," she said, offering her hands on either side of the crystal ball. "Close your eyes and concentrate. Do you know who you want to talk to on the other side?"
"No. No name. It's just that someone has been bothering me and I want to find out how to stop it."
She closed her eyes, so I did too. For a while she repeated some instructions to relax and let my mind open. I tried to but was beginning to get the impression that all this was a waste of time.
Then the table began to lift up under our hands. I gasped and opened my eyes to see Madam Nastasha staring at her crystal ball with a very surprised look on her face. At first I suspected the levitating table trick was hers but the look on her face convinced me otherwise. She was as shocked as I ,was. Then came the voice.
"What do you want?" It was the husky, sexy voice my alter ego used whenever she wanted to get men all turned on. And the voice was coming from me, not Madam Natasha!
"I want to know who you are," I said. At least the conversation was two-way.
There was a pause and I began to get the idea my ghost was not going to cooperate. Then I said, "Cindy. My name was Cindy."
"Why do you make me do those things?" I asked. A very reasonable question, I thought.
There was no answer.
"You almost got me killed Saturday night, do you know that?"
There was a laugh. "Carlos wouldn't kill you. Not the first time. He's mostly brag and bluster."
"But why did you do that to me... us?"
"Had to make you stay away from... from... that man."
She couldn't say Brian's name? What the hell did that mean? I looked at Madam Natasha to see that she was wide- mouthed shocked by what was going on. There would be no help from her.
Just then a couple pictures fell from the wall. And all the candles in the room flared up with eerie green flames. They died down in a few seconds but it had been a nice touch for a seance.
"Why are you making me do these things?" I repeated.
"Have to," was the reply.
"Are you trying to hurt me? Did I do something to make you mad at me?" I asked.
"Not mad at you. What we do is right. Good. Fun."
Fine, I thought, a ghost who thought that being tied up all the time and sexually used by numerous strangers was right and good. "What do you want?" I asked.
There was no answer. Either this ghost didn't know why she was doing this, or didn't want me to know. "Are the things you make me do anyway related to things that happened to you?"
"Yes."
Well, at least the dialogue was still open.
"Did you like this kind of treatment?"
"Yes." I was about to ask the next question when I was interrupted. "And no. Sometimes it hurts."
"No shit! Now you tell me."
"Sometimes it hurts. But it's always right."
Great. A confirmed masochistic ghost. Now came the big question, "How do I get rid of you?"
There was a pause, then, "You can't."
Now if I were talking to a live human, I would have said that they were lying and had to take a second to force themselves into the lie.
"Why did you pick me?" I figured that knowing the answer to that might help with how to get rid of her.
"No reason. Just picked you."
"I want you to leave me alone. Do you understand? Leave me alone!"
For a second there was no response, then the table, which had been floating a few inches off the floor, crashed down, dislodging the crystal ball. Madam Natasha quickly caught it before it rolled off the table.
"Cindy? Cindy?" I called but had the feeling that this seance was over. I looked at Madam Natasha for help.
"Oy Vey!" she said in a perfect Jewish accent. "You really got a ghost haunting you."
"That's what I told you. Didn't you believe me?"
"Hell, no. No body with a real ghost ever came in here. I just tell fortunes, promise love and a great future and the customers leave happy. I don't do ghosts." She adjusted her black wig and looked up at the window signs. "Not any more. No ghosts."
"So you can't tell me how to get rid of this ghost?"
"Sorry." She looked really sorry. She also looked like she wished I would get out of her pseudo-gypsy fortune telling room and take my ghost with me.
I left. But at least I knew a little bit more. And I had an idea.
Mrs. Sterling didn't look very surprised to see me. She invited me into her house and waved at the couch. I sat down.
"You want to know about the car," she said as a statement, not a question.
"Yes. I've been having some rather unusual occurrences every since I bought it. And you did say something about hoping that I would survive owning it. At first I thought that referred to its high performance. But now I know better."
"I should have had the car junked," she said wearily. "But I needed the money. And I couldn't go against Cindy's wishes." She sat down on a kitchen chair. "Yes, the car is haunted. By the ghost of my daughter, Cindy."
"You know about the things she's been making me do?" I asked, surprised at how easily this was going. I had expected to have to force the truth out of her, if she knew anything.
"You're the second girl that I've sold the car to. The car was Cindy's and she loved it. Now her ghost haunts it. She came to me in a dream and told me that I had to sell the car to a young, very pretty girl with a really good figure. Whenever a man comes to look at it, it won't start. When a girl who isn't pretty enough for Cindy comes, it steers funny or backfires or something. A girl named Marla bought it a few months ago. Three weeks later she was back, begging me to take the car back. She said it was haunted and that it made her do really strange things. She was a nervous wreck."
"I can understand that," I commented. "Do you know the nature of those things?"
Mrs. Sterling sighed. "Cindy... Well, perhaps I should start at the beginning. Every since Cindy was a little girl she liked to be tied up with ropes. She used to be tied up all the time in the children's games. Then as a teenager, I used to find her tying herself up in her bedroom. Or tied up by one of her girlfriends. Later, I found her all tied up and naked, left in her bedroom by one of her boyfriends. It was something that she couldn't stop herself from doing. Or having others do to her." Mrs. Sterling paused to ask if I wanted coffee. I declined but she went to the kitchen to get herself one. She continued the story as she poured it.
"I remember her coming home from dates with ropes marks on her arms and legs. I finally gave up trying to convince her it was wrong. I just accepted that she was different. Probably from not having a father. Bastard ran away when she was a baby.
"When she finished high school, Cindy didn't want to go to college. She also didn't want to become a waitress or a clerk in a store. She became a... a prostitute. She made good money at it but I couldn't stand her selling her body to strange men. And I knew that she was specializing in the kinky stuff, ropes and whips and all that. Some prostitutes do that.
"Well, that might have been all until Cindy meet with Dean. He was ten years older than she and rather wealthy. She fell in love with him. I thought it was his money but later I found out that it was because he tied her up all the time. Almost every night she was tied up some way. And often she was kept a prison for a whole weekend, constantly tied up or chained somehow. She hinted that he sometimes kept her tied or chained for a week at a time. And he spanked her and whipped her bottom. But she loved it! Stupid girl.
"It was Dean who bought her that 380SL. It was brand new and she loved it. Drove it for the three years they lived together." She paused to take a big breath. 'They were both killed in a car crash in his car. Six months ago."
Mrs. Sterling paused to sip her coffee and perhaps remember something. When she continued, it was with a different tone of voice. "I can imagine what she's forcing you to do. I suppose you'll want me to take the car back."
I thought about that. "Will that stop Cindy from haunting me?" I asked.
"Marla never came back after she left the car here," she said simply.
"And what will you do with it?"
She sighed again. "I'll have to sell it. One time I tried to call a junk company to come and haul it away. Before I finished dialing the number, the phone jumped out of my hand and crashed against the wall. Cindy won't let me do anything but sell it to a young woman at least as pretty and well-built as Cindy was."
Mrs. Sterling stood up and went to the mantle over a small fireplace with an electric heater in it. She picked up a framed photograph and brought it back to me. The girl pictured there was very beautiful, with long blonde hair and a wonderful smile. "You resemble her quite a bit," she said when she took the photo back.
She sat back down. "Do you have the pink slip?" she asked, obviously prepared to take back the car. "I didn't cash your check right away. I can give you most of the money back, but you'll have to wait until Monday when I can get to the bank."
"Mrs. Sterling... I want to keep the car." I was surprised a bit at what I said but, at the same time, knew that it wasn't Cindy talking. It was me.
Mrs. Sterling stared uncomprehendingly at me. "You want to keep the car?" was all she could say.
"I'll keep it." I really had not idea why I was doing that, except that it was really my idea. "You won't have to worry about it. Not ever again."
She stood and came over to take my hand. There was a small tear in her eye. I told her I would take care of everything and she should not worry a bit.
I had gone there ready to force the car back on her, or something. She hadn't warned me about the ghost that came with it, after all. But I just couldn't. That poor woman had suffered enough.
Of course, one could argue that I had suffered enough, too, and it would be a valid argument. I drove home and prepared myself for another Saturday night.
* * *
I didn't bother laying out the sexy clothes, I figured Cindy would know where everything was and go get whatever she wanted herself. I did take a shower and shampooed my hair. It was early evening and the shadows were lengthening outside my bedroom window. It would have been nice to be able to visit Brian, but that was too dangerous. Cindy could easily force me to go stand on a street comer in Carlos' territory, and that could well ruin my whole evening. Maybe my whole life. Better to let her take me where she wanted.
Actually, it wasn't so a bad deal. Until I had tried to force Cindy into what I wanted, she hadn't endangered me to any extent. She simply loved being tied up, and loved sex, and wanted to keep experiencing those things, even after death. At least I knew that there was life after death, which is more than most people know.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at myself in the mirror. "Okay, Cindy," I said. "You can take over. I'm ready. Just take it easy with my body, okay?"
Did my features change a bit in that mirror? Or was that my imagination? I stood up and went to the closet, feeling the familiar sensation of Cindy driving. I picked the black velvet dress and the high heels. No underwear, that only got in the way. Quickly enough I was dressed to play and heading out the door.
It was with great relief that I found myself driving away from the streetwalker section of town. For a while we drove along the beach front main road, and I began to think that Cindy was just going out for a drive on a pleasant early summer evening. But the drive did have a destination. It was a house overlooking Luna Bay. The whole neighborhood smelled of money with all those closed guard gates in front of mansions, most of them hidden in the trees. But our destination wasn't behind a guard gate, only a long driveway that wound up through a small forest. The house was large, looking something like a small version of Tara out of Gone with the Wind. I pulled up in front and parked the 380SL.
The woman who answered the door bell was in her late thirties and looked a lot like the famous hostess of a midnight horror movie show on local TV. She wore a dark dress of silk that covered her legs all the way down to the floor but revealed a great deal of cleavage. It was sleeveless but would have looked appropriate with the flowing sleeves of Morticia in the Adams Family.
"How may I help you?" she said coolly.
"Well, you could let me in, Hildy, darling. I'm a friend of Cindy's."
Hildy stood back to allow me inside. Most of the house was done in Chinese modem, and not to my liking at all. Lot's of reds and blacks and very tacky. I was led to a lounge. "Drink?" Hildy asked.
"Sure. Make it an Alexander. You haven't changed the place a bit. Still looks like something out of a thirties movie."
Hildy brought over my drink. "Did you know Dean and Cindy long?" she asked.
"Long enough," I said. "Long enough to know about their lifestyle. And to play games with them." Hildy's eyebrow went up at that. "And to have Cindy tell me about you." I sipped and then continued. "You are a dominant and have a private little room set up like a dungeon. Used to be a small bedroom on the floor below this one. She says that you have some interesting devices there. And know how to use them."
"Cindy was over here a few times. Mostly with Dean."
"About five times with Dean," I said. "But about two dozen times by herself. She says that you know how to tie a girl with ropes almost better than Dean did."
"Why are you here?" asked Hildy. Maybe this talk from a strange woman was making her nervous.
"Oh, I thought that maybe I'd sample some of what you used to give to Cindy...." I sipped my drink but kept my eyes on Hildy over the edge of the glass. She was appraising me carefully.
"What happened between Cindy and I is... was our business. You're not Cindy. Why should I do anything for you?"
I stood up. "No, I'm not Cindy." Then my hands were behind me and pulling down the zipper on the black velvet. "But I'm just as good as Cindy was." The dress fell to the floor, leaving me standing there in birthday suit and high heels. "And I'm a sassy, mischievous little bitch who needs to be taught a lesson."
Hildy fought a battle with caution and lost. She stood slowly up and took a step towards me. Suddenly there was a riding crop in her hand. Almost before the presence of the whip registered, the hand was swinging out and the leather end impacted on my left breast. I cried out and fell back, holding my injured breast.
"You didn't have to do that, bitch," I spat at her. "That hurt!"
Hildy took another step forward and swung the crop again, this time against my right hip. "Ohhh!" I cried and backed away. "Cut that out!"
With expert use of the riding crop, I was herded out of the lounge and down a corridor to a small door. Without being told it, I opened the door and descended the stairs. Another door at the bottom was opened and I was in Hildy's "special room," which Cindy seemed to know pretty well.
It was a bedroom, fair sized but with no bed. Where there had been a window, there was now iron security bars and some kind of covering. I guessed that the covering would be light proof and soundproof. The place reminded me a bit of the special room in Carlos' headquarters, but not in concrete. There was a chair and a post, both solid looking. There were numerous whips along the walls and ropes of different sizes and lengths hanging from pegs. There was also a selection of handcuffs, leg irons and straps.
But what caught my attention was in the middle of the room, sticking straight up from the floor. It was a metal shaft on top of which was a replica of a male phallus, extra large size and apparently made of rubber or plastic. A shiver went down my spine at the sight of that, for there was little doubt that its purpose was to hold a girl in place, her pussy impaled on it.
I had several painfully fresh red marks from that riding crop and really didn't want any more. Funny thing was that I got the impression Cindy didn't like the pain any more than I did. But she craved it for some reason. "Okay, you've got me in your dungeon! Now what, bitch?"
"I've only just teased you with this whip," she said in a voice with much in common with a snake's hissing. "I can deliver much more pain. You will obey. Completely and without question."
I gulped, knowing that she wasn't kidding. My bottom still remembered the whipping it had received at Carlos'. "I will obey. I won't like it, but please don't hit me."
"That's better," she purred. "Now, stand by the shaft and spread your legs wide."
I went to the shaft and spread my legs as ordered, looking nervously at that shaft all the time. With my legs spread wide, the top of the dildo was just at the level of the entrance to my sheath. This was not looking good.
Hildy put the whip carefully on a chair and took some ropes down from the wall. She untied the end with loving hands and allowed most of it to drop to the floor, keeping the end with a small loop in her hand. "So Cindy told you I could tie girls very well, did she?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good. She also told you the proper form to address your better." She walked around behind me. "You will not resist," she informed. Then she took my wrists and brought them behind me.
I expected to have her tie my arms together, probably with the elbows together. That was what knowledgeable people did with my arms. And it was a very effective way to bind a girl like me. But she didn't tie my arms that way. Instead she brought both hands up on my back, bending them at the elbows until my wrists were crossed and up by my shoulder blades. Then she began winding the rope around my wrists, very tight and precise.
"Do you like being well tied?" she asked as she tugged each winding down tightly.
"I like good bondage," I replied. "Cindy said that one time you kept her in a tight hogtie for two and a half days. Is that true?"
"It is true. Cindy was very much in love with being truly helpless. Perhaps you understand her feelings?" Boy, that was an understatement. "Perhaps you share them?"
"I love being tied well," I admitted. "Feeling helpless is exciting."
"Good. You will feel very helpless before long." She finished binding my wrists and knotted the rope several times. But there was still more rope in her hand. She then ran the rope over my shoulder and down under my arm back to the wrists. That was repeated over the other shoulder, and several times for each shoulder. When she tied the final knots, my hands were not only tied, they were locked high up on my back.
I tugged at them a bit, but there wasn't much hope of working anything free, this woman was simply too good with the ropes. "I believe my arms are bound beyond my ability to free them," I said. Or Cindy did, I don't usually talk like that.
"Good. Now I'm sure that you won't mind straddling the shaft. You know where it goes, I assume," she said sarcastically.
I moan a tiny bit to myself and moved over until the head of the phallic device was positioned directly under my sheath. It was just touching me, every so lightly. Hildy came over, smiling like a cat with a corned mouse. "You look very nice with your arms up and out of the way like that," she purred. "I like that."
"You're not going to leave me tied like this very long, are you?" I asked nervously. "This could get uncomfortable."
"I'm sure it will. And, as to how long you'll be tied, that depends on how long I want you tied. You did, after all, admit that you can't free yourself." She laughed softly and it wasn't pleasant.
Hildy was behind me. And then her hands come around and cupped my breasts. She toyed with them, teasing them, and expertly stimulated each nerve. When she tired of teasing, she squeezed with surprising strength in those thin fingers. It wasn't long before she had me panting and becoming aroused. I could have fought it, but Cindy was driving and she wanted to be turned on, so I just relaxed and went along as an observer.
Before long Mistress Hildegard progressed from my breasts down to my pubic patch where her fingers were wrecking havoc with my private parts. This was new experience for me but apparently Cindy was more than a little bit lesbian. I was simply not used to having another woman making love to me, but Cindy lapped it up. So to speak.
When I was panting and could feel my pussy all nice and juicy, Hildy went to a wall and picked up a small black box. When she came back, she knelt down in front of me and pressed a button on the box. There was a hum from someplace and the shaft started to raise slowly. It was quickly pressing against the entrance to my tunnel with some insistence. Hildy used her free hand to part my labia and allow that beast entrance. I lifted myself up to the tips of my toes but could go no farther. The shaft, on the other hand, could go much higher. As it slowly entered me, I realized that it would be futile to stay on my toes. So I, or Cindy, whichever, lowered myself onto the shaft until I was flatfooted on the floor.
I'd be lying if I said that standing there impaled on a dildo was unpleasant. Actually, it was rather nice -- once I got over amazement that my tunnel could expand to take in such a huge thing. The only question in my mind was how far would this mechanical monster be allowed to shaft me? Slowly it rose and filled my tunnel, and that felt good. Then it reached the end and I was totally filled. And that was good. But the shaft didn't halt it's upward motion, and that was not good. I was again up on my toes, straining to ease the pressure from below.
"Alright! Enough! I can't take any more!" I cried in genuine distress.
Hildy pressed the button again and the hum stopped.
"Egad, woman, you've got me standing on my toes," I told her needlessly for she could easily see that. "Please, let me down some."
Don't ever plead with a sadist. She touched the button again, just for a second, and I felt that rubber phallus being pushed even harder into me. I squealed. It again halted. I kept my mouth shut.
"You look so nice, standing there. It must feel wonderful to be so filled like that."
"I'll gladly chance places with you," I offered in a nervous voice. It was occurring to me that my feet could only take so much of the strain of standing on tip toes. And when the muscles couldn't support me any longer, I'd sink down and that damned shaft would split me in two.
She laughed. "I have tried it," she said. "With this remote control, I have stood exactly where you stand and ran the shaft up into myself. It was most gratifying. A real experience.
"Yeah, but you had the control to let yourself back down."
"Yes, I did."
"I don't have the control."
"Yes. And that's the difference between a Mistress and a slavegirl."
How do you argue with logic like that? Of course that was the difference. I was tied and shafted, and she was walking around with her finger on the button.
"Eventually I'll have to lower myself. My muscles can't take this forever. And then I'll hurt myself."
"A woman's vagina is a marvelous thing. It can take far more than you imagine. You'll survive."
I should have been more nervous about that than I was, but I realized that I wasn't too worried because Cindy wasn't too worried. Apparently she had been shafted by Hildy's marvelous machine before and knew that no serious damage would be done. That, or she simply didn't care if the human she was playing with got hurt. Now that was a comforting thought.
Hildy, meantime, hadn't been idle. She came up behind me and her arms encircled my body, hands cupping my breasts. She toyed with my nipples, teased them and stroked them until they were standing at rigid attention. Then the hands left only to return a little later in front of me and holding small metal devices. Each one had two bars with a shaft and a thumbscrew at the top. I didn't like the look of them. It even seemed to me that even Cindy was a little afraid of those things, but that could have simply been my imagination.
I watched in fascinated horror as Hildy fitted one of the devices over my right nipple and screwed down the shaft. It soon became obvious that the shaft pushed the bars together and between them was my poor little nipple. The bars closed and my tender flesh was squeezed between the hard edges. I gasped in pain and tried to draw back my breast. But from the waist down I was held in place by the shaft and my arms were totally useless. Hildy easily continued to tighten down the metal clamp until I was whining with the pain.
"Please, enough! That's hurting me."
She tightened it down another quarter turn, then began attaching the other clamp to my other nipple. Those were really terrible devices. The amount of pain delivered was adjustable by how much the screw was turned. And once attached, they hung onto your nipple. I could see the ends of my nipples turning dark color and knew that I couldn't stand that very long. No girl can stand having her tits smashed.
I tried to shake the clamps off but they held on and the shaking only made my nipples hurt more. Each nipple was burning and aching at the same time. I wanted those thing off real bad but couldn't do a thing about them. For a while Hildy simply watched me struggle with a smile on her face.
I pleaded with my eyes for her to take the terrible things off but her eyes laughed back. It was then I realized something that Cindy had already known, I was a captive of a woman who likes to hurt other women. Hurt them a lot.
When I again looked at Hildy, there was a small braided black leather whip in her hand and a glee in her eyes that I didn't like. She was slowly circling me. I tried to keep her in view but had trouble when she was behind me.
"I used to begin by warming Cindy up with a little pain." She illustrated with a slash across my bottom. I cried out loud from the sudden pain. It felt like a fiery line had been drawn across my bottom. But the worst part was that I jerked when the pain appeared and that hurt the inside of my vagina. "She didn't like it any more than you do. The whip does, after all, hurt. But she could do nothing about it. The whip kept kissing her flesh," another illustration that brought forth a fresh squeal of pain, "until she could take no more and screamed with each touch of the leather thong."
Maybe communication between Cindy and myself was becoming easier, but I knew, simply knew inside, that what Hildy said was true. Cindy did wind up screaming. Just as I was going to wind up screaming, and very soon. At least for now I was learning how to hold my body still so that the shaft inside me didn't hurt me.
With the next lash of that whip, I screamed. It was because of the pain, but also because of the fear. I was totally helpless at the hands of this woman, and was coming to understand just how much she enjoyed hurting a girl. It was a frightening experience.
But my screaming did not make the fiery kisses of the whip go away. Hildy was enjoying herself too much to quit just because what she called a slavegirl was suffering.
Then a most strange thing happened. Suddenly I found that my loins were heated up to a white hot incandescence. Suddenly I was gasping and knew that in seconds I would explode in a very much unexpected orgasm. And I did. It was intense, it was powerful, it was like no other I had ever experienced in my life.
When I returned to the land of the living, I was standing flatfooted over the shaft, my pussy still filled with the huge thing, and my arms still bound high up on my back. My poor titties still had those terrible clamps locked on them but the pain had reduced to an ache that was bad but not worth screaming about. I could figure if Hildy had been right and my vagina simply took the additional stress of my coming down off my toes, or if she had lowered the shaft a bit. Perhaps she knew that damage could result and lowered the shaft as I was lost in my climax. Or maybe not. I never have found out.
I looked around and found Hildy sitting on one of the chairs, watching me with amusement in her eyes. "Not many girls will have an orgasm just from being whipped," she commented.
"There was more than just the whip," I commented dryly. "My poor pussy is filled with that damned shaft of yours."
"Yes, it is. But you're still something special. Cindy was just like that. She would have the most intense orgasms while riding that shaft and being whipped. I used to love the way she screamed when she came. Just like you do."
I screamed with the orgasm? New one on me. Well, maybe I had. But I was tired and still hurting. "Would you let me down now?" I asked evenly. "I'm hurting."
"I know. Why the hell do you think I left you up there? And you'll hurt a lot more before dawn comes. Since you're Cindy's friend, I guess it's only fair that I treat you the same as I did her. Cindy used to take it all night. Really could stand the pain, that one. Then, next weekend she would be back for more. Hardly had time for the whip marks to heal."
I sighed. Cindy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. In more ways that one.
I don't know how long I stood there, impaled by that shaft and suffering from tight ropes, clamps on my nipples, and Hildy's whip. She really didn't whip me much after that first time, but she really didn't have to do much to make me hurt. My bottom was so sore that the slightest touch with her whip make me scream. Not always very loudly but very sincerely. That small black whip could hurt!
Someplace during the night I was let down. But not before Hildy had worked me up to another orgasm I did not want to have and would not have thought possible. Apparently a second whipping just wouldn't do it, so Hildy showed me the third button on the remote control. Number one made the shaft go up, number two made it go down. Number three made it rotate.
She played with my pussy with her fingers until I was moaning and we both knew that I was excited again. Then she showed me the third button and pressed it. Slowly the shaft within my sheath began to twist. It was a most unusual sensation. No male member had ever begun twisting inside me. It was also quite nice.
Between her fingers on my clit, that rotating dildo inside me, and her tongue teasing my squashed nipples, I didn't stand a chance. I was soon moaning loudly and thrusting my breasts against her mouth, seeking more attention. But the real inducement to orgasm came when I discovered that I could pump the shaft inside me by lifting myself up on toes and then lowering myself. I was soon pumping away, sliding that dildo inside me like it was a real male penis.
The orgasm was as intense as the first and different. Different but wonderful. I cried out with pure pleasure and trembled all over as waves of heat swept over my body.
It was sometime after the second orgasm that Hildy let me down. But my arms remained bound behind me, only my lower half was released from its captivity on the shaft.
I was taken to Hildy's bedroom where I was introduced to more of the delights of lesbian lovemaking. Mostly the kind where I, as the bound up and helpless slavegirl, had to service Hildy. And Hildy wanted long, slow lovemaking with me starting on her breasts and working my mouth over most of her body before reaching that most sensitive part where some serious lovemaking could be done. I don't know if it was Cindy helping, Hildy's guidance, or instinct, but I was able to do some very acceptable (according to Hildy) lesbian lovemaking. Perhaps it was all three.
That night I learned how to please another woman without using any hands, only my mouth and tongue. I also learned that a dominant woman has to be pleased properly or she causes considerable pain to her little slavegirl. Hildy only had to reach down and squeeze my sore bottom to remind me that she was in control and that I was helpless before her.
I'll have to say that I learned a lot that night. I could have done away with the whipping part, but even that was educational. I'd never known that a woman could achieve an orgasm while her bottom was being whipped and she was in pain. I wondered if I would have had the orgasm if that shaft hadn't been filling my vagina. And many of the things I learned in Hildy's bedroom were actually fun. I found that I enjoyed having the power to make another woman experience an intense orgasm. It's fun to watch another woman go through what you know is the most incredible experience in life.
It was actually dawn when Hildy dragged me back to the lounge to retrieve my black velvet dress. My body was battered and exhausted. She watched as I dressed, as the velvet covered up the marks from her whip, and seemed much happier than she had been when I first came to her house. She required a phone number, and ordered me to return the next Saturday night. I gave her a factious phone number and promised to return for more pain and pleasure, even thought I was pretty sure that Cindy wouldn't allow that. So far she hadn't allowed any repeats.
I walked to my car just as the first sliver of sun was lifting itself above the distant mountains. The air was clean and cool and good to inhale. I winced and whined a bit when my bottom came in contact with the leather seat but in some twisted, illogical way, that was a good feeling. With a thought that I was getting more and more like Cindy, I drove away into the dawn.
CHAPTER NINE - TORTURE IN MY OWN APARTMENT
My ass was sore for four days. After that it stopped hurting every time I sat down, but the marks stayed for more than a week. That little whip of Hildy's had really done a job on my bottom. Cindy went away and didn't bother me all week. Which didn't sit too well with me. Here she went and got my bottom all beaten and sore, and then she just goes away to leave me to suffer with it. It just wasn't fair.
Each time I got into my shinny red 380SL, I thought about how much had happened to me since I bought it. I had learned more about sex than I had ever known. I had discovered that I could get a very intense sexual satisfaction out of being tied up, which is something that I would have never suspected had not Cindy come into my life. I also learned that there are such things as ghosts and that they can take over your life.
I also was pretty sure I knew how to get rid of Cindy. The key was that cute little sports car. When it had been sold to Marla, Cindy had begun haunting her. When the car came back to Mrs. Sterling, Cindy came with it. Therefore, all I had to do was sell the car and Cindy would go with it.
Simple but perhaps not as easy to do as say. Cindy had demonstrated that she could prevent the car from being sold. She had made it run poorly and turn away a potential buyer. She had even given her poor mother a shock when she tried to phone a wrecking yard. What if Cindy didn't want me to get rid of the car and her?
I was about ready to try anything. Some of Cindy's ideas had turned out to be fun, but others had nearly gotten me killed. At the very least, I was tortured because of her love of all this kinkiness. We had to come to a compromise of some sorts.
That's why I went to the hardware store and bought some chain and padlocks and a couple other things on Saturday morning.
As Saturday evening came around I was prepared to put my plan into effect. I laid out all the chains and padlocks on the bed. Then I put the timer on the tall dresser, along with the keys to the padlocks. The timer was a simple device, merely a tall, thick candle that was marked with hour marks on the side. It was sold as a novelty clock, you could tell how much time had gone by from how far down the marks the candle had burned. I tied a thread around the candle at the ten hour mark, and tied the keys to the loose end of the thread. When the candle burned down far enough to either bum through the thread or let it slip off, the keys would fall from their own weight. I set the candle next to the edge of the dresser so that the keys hung over the edge. Then I lit the candle.
That was the easy part. Then I had to chain myself up so that I couldn't move out of the bedroom. When the candle dropped the keys to the floor, I would be able to free myself, but not before. I figured that ten hours would take me into Sunday morning. Since Cindy did her work on Saturday nights, I figured I would survive this weekend without endangering my life or injuring my bottom.
It took a little figuring out and experimentation to find a good way to chain myself. I had to be restrained well enough so that I couldn't leave the room. Also so that I couldn't stand up and reach the keys before the ten hours were up. And it had to be good enough so that Cindy couldn't make me escape early.
I began by screwing a metal ring into the wooden floor on opposite sides of my bedroom. I had considered chaining myself to the bed but it was a small bed and could be pushed around so that wasn't solid enough. But with those metal rings screwed into the floor, I had something solid to secure myself to. I took one chain, locked the end to one ring and ran the chain across the floor to the other one. There I locked it so that the chain was taunt. Then I sat down in the middle of the chain and put my ankles over it. A small length of chain went around my ankles and was padlocked so that my ankles were held solidly in place. Before I clicked shut the lock, I made sure that I could just reach the spot were the keys would fall by laying stretched out on my stomach. Then I locked my ankles and felt better.
With my ankles secured, I was safe enough. I couldn't reach the dresser to shake it and knock the candle down. My fingers could just reach where the keys would fall. And I certainly couldn't get up and leave with my ankles chained to the floor. I had even carefully checked to make sure that I couldn't reach the rings to unscrew them. I was secured.
Perhaps it was a measure of how much I had changed because of Cindy's influence that I had chained myself to the floor just after taking a shower and while I was still stark naked. Somehow it seemed appropriate that I be naked while chained up for the night.
And it wasn't just my being naked that showed my changing attitude. After securing my ankles in place, I reached up onto the bed and picked up my other purchase. It had come from a magic store, not the hardware store, but it went well with the chains. As I clicked each cuff of the bright and shinny new handcuffs on my wrists, I wore a smug smile on my face. Cindy could do her worst but I was not going to be leaving the bedroom that Saturday night.
After an hour had gone by and the room grew darker from the coming night, I realized a couple mistakes I had made, but nothing serious. First off, I had not turned on any lights, which meant that I would be spending the night in darkness. Well, save for the little light that leaked in around the blinds in my bedroom from the security light in the parking area, and the candle light from my timer. The second realization was that I would be bored. It was only seven o'clock and I wasn't sleepy yet. I should have turned on the radio, or included a book to read or something. And the third mistake was that I forgot to put the pillow on the floor. Or, for that matter, any covers.
Fortunately, I was within reach of the bed and could pull off the blankets when it got cold enough and I wanted to go to sleep. As to being bored, I would just have to make do as best I could.
About an hour later I found myself looking intently at the chains on my ankles and growing mad at my stupidity for chaining myself up. It was then I realized that Cindy was taking over. I mentally sat back to watch the show.
First off she tried to get the chains off. Then she glared up at the dressing and those keys hanging on the side of the candle. I could sense that she was rather unhappy. Then I couldn't sense her presence any more.
Had she given up that quickly? Was that all it took to defeat her? Somehow I didn't think so.
I began wondering what it was that ghosts do when they're not busy haunting houses or taking over humans.
Cindy had to be someplace the other days of the week, didn't she? I had gotten through to her with that phony psychic on a weekday night. And she had done her thing one Sunday, that was true. But she preferred Saturday nights. Maybe that was the night of the week she was killed on, and ghosts have an affinity for the day of the week they died on. Well, it could be.
About fifteen minutes later I found myself squirming around to look at the nightstand, and knew that Cindy was back. Hadn't thought she would give up so easily.
The nightstand held only a reading light and the telephone, nothing else. Besides, it was well out of my reach, even if I stretched out on the floor and extended my arms. So what was she interested in it for?
Then I was looking around the room, examining everything in the room, looking for something. Suddenly I focused in on the trash can. Then I was struggling to get to my knees on the other side of the chain stretched across the floor. It was a little effort with wrists joined by steel cuffs but I made it. Then I reached out and pulled the trash can to me. It didn't make much sense as the only thing in the trash can was a bent wire coat hanger I had thrown away earlier. But Cindy seemed very interested in that coat hanger. She pulled it from the trash can and straightened it out but left the hook at one end. Then I was wiggling back into my sitting position with legs straight out before me, but I didn't stop there. She soon had me stretched out towards the night stand with that coat hanger in my hands. It was the phone she was after, and with the coat hanger to hook it's cord, she got it.
The phone fell to the floor and was hooked again and dragged over to where I could reach it with my hands. Then I was dialing a number I didn't know and waiting for an answer.
I wished I had thought this thing through. The phone should have been a obvious thing to place out of reach. Was she calling Hildy to come over and whip my bottom? Or some other sadist who would give me a really bad time? And here I was, ready for whoever she was calling, naked and chained up by my own hand.
"Hello?"
'Tom. This is a friend of Cindy's."
"Yes?" The voice on the other end was interested but hesitant.
"I'm a really cute girl with much the same tastes as Cindy had. I'm sure you know what I mean."
"In what way?"
"Come on, Tom, you know what kind of things Cindy liked. Remember that time you hung her upside down from the beams in your patio, and then forced her to give upside down blow jobs to your male friends while her ass was being whipped?"
"How do you know about that?"
"Cindy told me. Before she died, of course." She paused only a second before coming to the point. "Well, I could use some tender loving care tonight. The kind you know so well how to give. Interested?"
"Well, if you're sure you know what you're getting into...."
"I know," I purred in that husky voice. "I like the ropes tight and a firm hand to punish me when I'm bad."
"Why don't you come right over?" he asked. I could almost hear him drooling on the phone. "I'll give you the address."
"Can't. You'll have to come here."
"I have some special equipment you really should see. Why can't you come here?"
"Can't."
"Are you restrained in some way?" he sounded very interested.
"Bingo, Tom! I can't leave the bedroom. You'll have to come here." Then she gave him and address. "The front door is unlocked, come right in." Then she paused dramatically before adding, "It will be worth your while." Damn! The front door was unlocked, stupid me.
I hung up and could feel the satisfied, smug look on my face. Cindy was going to get her way after all. I could almost cry.
Half an hour later I heard noise in my front room, followed by the appearance of a man. By candle light he looked pretty good, early thirties, tall, dark eyes and a rugged but not bad looking face. He smiled at the sight of my naked body.
"You certainly are restrained, aren't you." He came closer to get a better look at me. "And you really are a looker. Nice job of chaining yourself up. I presume you did it yourself?"
"The keys are up there on that candle," I told him. "You can do a better job if you wish."
He looked at the candle and noted the hour marks. "You planning a timed escape, I see. Very good. Maybe I'll just leave you secured like that for now." He then explored my entire apartment. Satisfied that we were alone, he returned, only to tell me, "I'll be right back."
When he came back from his car, he had a brief case. Out of that brief case came not briefs, but ropes, handcuffs and a couple whips. He laid them out on the bed. "First thing," I said, "is to assure that you don't make too much noise. This is an apartment complex, after all."
I said nothing, which was probably for the better. He took that to be agreement and brought out a roll of wide, grey tape. Looking around, he went into the bathroom and returned with the pair of panties I had taken off before my shower. Knelling down, he grabbed my jaw in a strong hand and told me to open my mouth. I didn't want to, but Cindy was in the driver's seat and I felt my lips opening. He shoved in the panties. I wanted to gag. Not that they were really bad, but I had worn them for most of the day and that made them something I didn't want in my mouth. He used the wide tape to seal my lips and mouth with tape from ear to ear and under my jaw. My lips were sealed.
"Get up on your knees," Tom commanded in a sterner tone than he had used up to that point. I looked up at him and saw the small, wicked looking black whip in his hand. Suddenly I had no desire to disobey. It's too bad I couldn't meet this Cindy in person, I would have strangled her.
I struggled to my knees until I was on hands and knees with the chain passing across the room over my ankles. It was hard not to be aware of how much that made my bottom stick up.
"Put your hands between your legs and grab that chain," he ordered. I tried and found that I could put my hands between my legs only by lowering myself until my head was against the floor. It was awkward to say the least, trying to reach between my legs to grab the chain but I did it. And that position really stuck my bottom up in the air -- just as Tom knew it would. He reached down and I heard the click of a lock. "You can let go now," he said. I did and found that he had locked the linking chain of my handcuffs to the chain over my ankles. There was no way I was going to pull my arms back through my legs while that lock stayed on.
"So you would like to have some of the same treatment Cindy loved so much?" He grinned down at me. "Did you know that Cindy loved to have her bottom whipped? This is one of her favorite whips. It's short and easy to swing but has a very nasty leather thong at the end. It delivers quite a sting. Or so she said. I would, of course, have no first hand knowledge of such things."
I'm sure you wouldn't, I thought. Then I mentally called Cindy some very unpleasant names for calling this guy over to my apartment.
The first stroke was unannounced and all the worse for it. I heard a noise but before I could associate that swish with the whip in his hand my bottom was crying out in pain. His hand was strong and that whip really hurt me. I yelled but it was into my panties and tape and very little sound got out. I may have wiggled my bottom some, I'm not too sure about that because the next stroke came almost immediately and landed almost perfectly centered on my other cheek. I yelled again into my panties and jerked in my chains.
The whipping was slow, deliberate and very effective. I was soon reduced to sobbing and wiggling my ass in futile attempts to get it away from that terrible whip. Being on your knees with your face buried in the carpet is a fine position for having your ass whipped. Tom methodically covered every square inch of my poor buns with the fiery kiss of that whip. I cried and whined through my nose, and gasped each time the leather touched my flesh. In a funny way, I was glad that he had gagged me, the noise I would have been making would have disturbed the entire apartment building.
It was a while before I realized that the whip had stopped torturing my bottom. Then strong male hands clamped into that very sore flesh and began kneading it in a manner designed to hurt. And it did! My poor bottom was already covered with whip marks -- I could see part of it in the closet mirror -- and did not need any new torture. But this Tom liked to see me squirm, and digging his fingers into my pained flesh was one way to make me squirm. Also cry out with the fresh agony and jerk at the chains that held me.
In the position I was, my knees were spread a bit but not too wide because my ankles were chained together. Mostly it was my arms between my thighs that forced my knees apart. But there was enough separation of the cheeks of my poor, tortured bottom so that Tom could insert a finger to play with my pussy. More than enough room. With one hand giving me pain by squeezing and digging into my sore bottom, the other hand was giving me pleasure by teasing my sex. And once again I discovered that being tortured can act as a sexual stimulant to a girl. My pussy was juicy and ready to accept his finger or anything other object that wished to enter within. It was disgusting but true, I was hot and "ready to trot," as the old saying goes.
But Tom was a sadist, you must remember that. To work me up to an orgasm, to grant me any kind of satisfaction, let alone pleasure, was not his style. A good judge of when a girl was nearing an orgasm, he suddenly let go of my privates and left me to wiggle in frustration. It was so near yet so far. I couldn't reach up to touch myself, my hands were joined to my ankles by steel. I couldn't even rub my pussy on the carpet or edge of the bed, anything that might have pushed me over the edge into a climax.
He let me come partly down then began teasing me again. He didn't know my reactions so he stayed on the conservative side and several times left me hanging only half way up to the orgasm I was wanting pretty badly by then. Half a dozen times he excited me then left me tasting bitter frustration. At the end of the final time, he delivered a stinging blow across my bottom with his open palm. It evoked a scream from me but almost defeated his purpose. The pain came very close to being just what I needed to reach that orgasm. I came sooooo close.
"One of the things that Cindy enjoyed most," he began telling me after I had "cooled" down a bit, "was being tightly bound with ropes. She liked tight ropes like no other girl I've ever seen. Was crazy about being so tightly bound that the ropes were sinking into her flesh."
I know, I thought. I'm getting to be an expert on Cindy's sexual preferences.
"So I'm going to bind you in one of her favorite ways, he continued. "She used to call it a 'Ball Tie.' I'm sure you'll like it."
He unlocked my handcuffs from the chain over my ankles. Then he got the keys down from the candle and unlocked my ankles from the chain stretched across the room. For a few moments I was almost free, being restrained only by a pair of handcuffs and those on in front of me. I looked at the door, wondering if I could make a rush for freedom. But when I ordered my legs to move, then did nothing. Damn you, Cindy! I cursed behind the gag- One ankle was grabbed and pulled until I was on my back with that leg straight up in the air. He grabbed my other ankle and began wrapping rope around them both. After the ankles were secured, he bound my legs just above my knees, both places being very tightly tied. It was only then that he unlocked the handcuffs. He wasn't new at this game of keeping a girl prisoner. With bound legs, I wasn't about to do much dashing for freedom.
My arms were gathered behind me and bound there in a way I was pretty used to by then; the elbows were tightly locked together with rope. He paused to admire the way that bondage made my breasts stick out. I had to admit that it did have a beneficial effect when I saw myself in the mirror. Made for a pretty sexy package, I admitted to myself.
His briefcase then produced a leather collar, sort of like a dog collar but wider and softer. That he buckled onto my neck snugly. There was a loop of leather in front to which he tied a short length of rope. Then he pulled me up on the bed until I was sitting down with my legs straight out in front of me. He threaded the rope from my collar through the rope binding my knees and pulled. I had to bend forward. He passed the rope through the small loop and back around the knee rope, then pulled some more. I bend more forward. My knees came up but he didn't seem to mind that. My head approached even closer to my knees as he pulled on that rope. Finally my chin was resting against my knees and I could be bent no further. He took that rope down to my ankles and tied several knots there.
That was not all. He took another, much longer piece of rope, and made a large loop of it. That he passed around my body, below my legs and over my back and arms just about the level of my elbows. He wound that many times, pulling each one tightly so that my breasts were squashed into my thighs. He tied the final knots to those ropes already around my elbows.
This would have been a bad enough bondage position if he had just left me like that. But he didn't. I was rolled over on to my side and a rope tied around the rope already on my ankles. I whined in protest for I knew what was coming next, and why Cindy had called it a 'Ball Tie.' He took that rope from my ankles and passed it between my forearms then back down to the ankles. Around then once more and then he began pulling. My legs bent double and kept going until my heels were pressed firmly into my sore ass and my arms were pulled down towards the same ass with great force. He passed the rope around my wrist rope a few times then up to the elbows were the final knots were tied.
Now I was in a Ball Tie and knew with all my heart that I could never escape. Not only that, but I knew that this position would soon become a torture by itself. Almost every part of me was under some kind of strain. And all those parts were starting to hurt already.
Tom looked down at me with a smile that can only be described as an 'evil grin.' "Cindy loved being tied like this," he explained. "She used to ask me to do it after her bottom had been whipped. Sometimes I would do it for her, sometimes not. One time I handed her clothes back to her and told her to go home. Talk about being sadistic...." he chuckled.
"Well, this time you've gotten the Ball Tie, just as Cindy used to like it. Now you may be asking yourself just what good this Ball Tie is. It is, of course, uncomfortable, so it could be used to punish a girl. But there is one other advantage that perhaps you're not familiar with. I certainly made sure that Cindy became familiar with it."
He stopped talking long enough to rotate me up to my knees and pull me around until I was at the edge of the bed. He left her there for a minute while he fetched a chair from the kitchen. That he put in the middle of the room. Then he picked me up and placed me on the chair. My feet were hanging over one side and my head was looking straight down over the other side. Tom then took some more rope and tied my ankles down to the rungs under the chair. He did the same with the rope connecting my neck to my knees. Then he tied some more rope between my elbows and the back of the chair. When he was finished, I was quite solidly lashed to the chair and couldn't move a thing.
That was about the most restrictive bondage I had ever been in. I could move less and felt even more helpless than when I was in a tight hogtie. It was even more helpless feeling than when I hung upside down in Phil's garage. I could wiggle my fingers and toes a bit, and maybe shake my head from side to side a bit, but that was all. And I do mean all.
Tom stood back to admire his handiwork. "I did this to Cindy more than once. She admired how completely helpless it made her. Of course, she didn't really like what comes next, but she was hardly in a position to do anything about it. Just as you're not." What comes next? With a mental sigh, I told myself that the bastard was going to leave me tied like this all night, which would be a fairly terrible torture. I'll admit that I was getting pretty used to being tied up, and there was an attraction to it. Being tightly bound up was... Well, how else to say it except that it was exciting to me. But even that excitement had its limits. For me to stay tied like this all night would be a torture -- no other word for it. I would probably hurt worse in those long hours than I did from his whip. If you can compare apples to oranges in this crazy area. I think I would have pleaded for him not to leave me but for the gag. And Cindy would have stopped me, I was pretty sure. This was her kind of action, no doubt.
But leaving me was not what came next. I should have guessed that Tom would find some way to get his sexual satisfaction out of these games, and he did. Most of what he did next was behind me and I couldn't turn around to see it. There was the sound of a zipper and that suggested that his pants were somewhere down at half mast. Then there was a pause followed by the ropes between my hands and ankles being pulled aside. Apparently he had tied another rope onto the rope linking my hands and feet, and used it to hold that rope away from my bottom. Or, to be more precise, away from my asshole.
And that gave me the cold shivers. Intentions were confirmed when he smeared some kind of cold cream or jelly all around and into my asshole. His finger actually enter my rectum to make sure that a goodly amount of that stuff was inside.
What came next was something new for me and something I would have been disgusted at the mere thought of a few weeks before. But I was learning. And, besides, in case you haven't noticed, I was rather helpless and powerless to lift a finger in defense of my virgin asshole. I felt the head of his penis pressing against my rear and cried out my displeasure into the gag. Harder and harder he pushed it against that reluctant entrance, until mere muscles could resist no more. Suddenly he was inside me, and it was one of the strangest feelings I had ever felt in my life. Perhaps Cindy was used to such things, but I was a virgin when it came to sodomy.
It hurt, I'll not deny that. But it was also somehow incredibly exciting. The mere thought of a man invading that private place was something that made me feel so very helpless. And that made me excited. It was not the way I wanted things to go, nor the way I would have predicted, but being raped in the rear was turning me on.
Slowly, relentlessly, he pushed his rod into a part of me never before invaded by anything. I felt my bottom wiggling but the ropes gave me little freedom of movement. And I wasn't sure if my wiggling was to try and get away from this violation of my rear or to help that monster slide more smoothly into it.
Then he began pumping. Slowly, almost gently, at first then a little faster, he began the ancient sexual act on my person. It was just not in the usual place. Not that I'm an expert on sexual practices through the ages. Perhaps men have been taking women in the ass for as long as they've been screwing them in the front place.
How can I describe it? It was a sensual feeling, not doubt about that. It was painful but the pain soon faded away to a discomfort no more intense than the tight ropes on my body. Since I was only an observer without the power to change events, I could sit back and study the feelings with a certain detachment. The only trouble was that those feelings were becoming pretty strong, and beginning to occupy my mind to the exclusion of all else.
To make a long story short, within five minutes his screwing of my asshole had worked me up to where I was nearing an orgasm, just as his screwing of my vagina would have. And that bend over, doubled up position I was tied in helped. I had already accepted that I was turned on by being tied up. And boy, was I tied up! Couldn't move a thing and really felt the tight ropes all over my body, cutting into my flesh and holding me prisoner.
Then it happened. I don't know if he sensed how close I was to an orgasm, or if was just plain bad luck. But suddenly he was moaning, shoving his hips against my bottom as hard as he could, and shooting his load into my rear. If he had held off just a minute longer, I'm sure that I would have been close enough so that his climax would have triggered one in me. It was sooooo close! But that huge, pumping rod filling my asshole diminished quickly and then withdrew, leaving me with one hell of a case of frustration.
I cried in anger and frustration and shook my whole body to the extent the ropes allowed me, which wasn't much. The funny part was that I could sense Cindy was right there with me, feeling the same frustration and anger. Served her right for getting me into this.
It took a few minutes for me to come down from the high state of sexual excitement to where I was aware of what was going on around me. Tom had his clothes back on and was packing away some of the ropes and stuff he hadn't used on me. I tried to whine a plea through my nose, begging him to untie me.
"Sorry, sweetie," he said with a very wicked smile. "But you wanted to be treated the same as Cindy, and she would have loved to spend the night tied as you are. So I guess it's only fair to leave you just as I would have left Cindy."
I struggled mightily against the ropes but hardly moved an inch. I whined protests through my nose but was ignored. Actually, I was surprised that Cindy allow me to fight what was happening. Until I realized that she knew full well there was nothing I could do about it. I guessed she was enjoying the action. Cindy and I were going to have to have a talk when this whole thing was over.
Tom left me. But before he did, he blew out the candle, telling me as he did that open flames shouldn't be left burning when the only person in the place was unable to put out any fires that might start. I was in total agreement, even though it meant I would be in darkness all night.
He promised to drop by in the morning to check on me. "Of course, if you can work your way loose," he said sweetly, "then please call me to save me the trip. Bye!"
Suddenly I was alone, in the dark, and quite utterly helpless. For the next hour or so I worked at the ropes, trying to find knots with my fingers, loose ropes that I could work on, anything that might help me escape. But the ropes were too numerous and too well tied for that to happen. I was going to perch on that chair until rescued in the morning.
As a punishment, I hardily recommend the Ball Tie. The girl who is unfortunately enough to find herself so tied will be uncomfortable from the start, and that will grow until she is ready to scream. Can you say, "Ordeal?"
That's what it was. Long before the night was half over, I was moaning from the ache in my shoulders and other parts. My feet and hands felt cold and I knew that the circulation was not doing so well. But I could move then and knew that it was not totally cut off. With my head tied down to my knees that way, I felt like I was going to fall off the chair but never did. The ropes holding me to the chair prevented not only my falling off but helped to make me even more secure.
I sort of drifted in and out of a half sleep but never really got anything that refreshed me. I would have been happy to fall into a real sleep -- that would have helped pass the time. But the constant aches and pains were too much. Every once in a while I sort of went berserk and fought against the ropes. Didn't do me any good. In fact, it usually made the bondage hurt even more. I hoped Cindy was getting her money's worth, I was certainly getting full measure.
When Tom came back for me, it was to find a very sorry little girl. I ached all over and had cried so much that the tears came no more. He stood there, enjoying the tear stains down my cheeks, the way those ropes dug into my flesh, and the pained look in my eyes.
Then he screwed me in the ass again.
It wasn't nearly as pleasant for me as the night before had been. I got no orgasm out of it, only a pain in the ass that was mildly sexual -- to be honest about it. He seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. He chatted about how beautiful I was all tied up like that, and how he was sure I had enjoyed the night just like Cindy used to. Then he came and filled my rear with his cum again.
Even then, with his sexual satisfaction obtained, he didn't untie me. For a while, as he rested from his labors, he teased me with the possibility of his leaving me like that all day, then returning in the evening to screw my "wonderfully tight ass" yet again. I began to believe him.
But he untied me. Even a sadist knows that all slavegirls have limits. I was glad he left the gag in my mouth as he peeled the ropes out of my flesh. Between the ache of moving stiff muscles and the pins and needles of returning circulation, I would have been crying out pretty loudly.
Finally I was laying on the floor, my arms limp by my side, and the gag still in my mouth. Tom gathered up all his ropes and stuff, carefully leaving my handcuffs, chains and keys on the floor before me. He was cheerful, quite a contrast to my exhausted condition, and he thanked me for a wonderful time. He even expressed the hope that I had enjoyed the evening as much as he had. Then he told me to call anytime I wanted a repeat performance, and was gone.
I crawled into the bathroom, peeled the tape off my mouth, a rather unpleasant task as it was very sticky tape, spit the panties out of my mouth, then took a hot shower.
After that, I staggered over to bed and felt onto the covers. I was asleep almost immediately.
CHAPTER TEN - CHAINING A GHOST
It was mid-afternoon when I awoke. Except for a rather sore bottom -- make that VERY sore -- I was in pretty fair shape after my ordeal of the night before. I stood before the mirror and looked over my shoulder at the battered and bruised bottom displayed there. It was worse than any of the other whippings I had received, or so it seemed. Each whipping seemed to be the worse. I would have trouble sitting down for a week, I was sure.
The rope marks were gone, the serious ache in my shoulders and other parts of my body were gone, and I could finally say that the taste of panties was gone from my mouth. All in all, I was lucky, no serious damage done. My bottom would recover, given time. My asshole might not be a virgin any longer but it felt pretty much normal.
But there was something else the ordeal had taught me, namely that Cindy could be dangerous. Tom was only having his fun with me, but there was Carlos. And perhaps other dangers in these waters. Cindy could still get me killed or seriously injured with these games.
I had to do something. But what?
I had a late lunch and thought about the problem. I could just try to sell the 380SL but would Cindy let me? I doubted it. She had what she wanted, a good looking young woman whom she could take over and enjoy the kind of things she used to have with. I doubted she was going to give that up.
I cleaned up the chains and handcuffs, putting them away in a half empty drawer of my dresser. When I finished, only the candle was left to show that a heavy duty game of ropes and chains had taken place in that bedroom.
While I sat there, looking at myself in the mirror, I got to thinking. Maybe what I needed was come communication. I had talked with Cindy in that fortune- teller's place, perhaps I could talk with her again.
"Cindy! I want to talk to you. I have to talk to you," I told my image in the mirror. Nothing happened. "Listen, I can come up with a variation of the chain routine that will work. You know I can. I'll disconnect the phone. I'll gag myself so I can't call for help. I'll chain myself so well that it will take me an hour to get out of all the chains and handcuffs even after I get the keys. And I'll find or have made a box that will open with an electrical timer so there's no way the keys will fall early. I'm sure the electronics store will have something along those lines." I paused to catch my breath. "I'll fix myself up every Saturday night so that you can't make me play your games."
There was no reply. Was she just refusing to talk or was she really gone someplace where she couldn't hear me.
"I'll get a friend to take that 380SL to the junk yard and have it smashed into a tiny cube of metal."
Suddenly I was standing up and going into the kitchen. There I got a pad of paper from next to the phone and a pencil. I sat down on the bed and began writing a note to myself. Cindy apparently didn't want to talk but was willing to communicate. Or maybe she couldn't use my voice for some reason. I don't understand all this ghost stuff.
"Don't destroy the car," I wrote in a handwriting not my own. "Love car."
"I love the car, too," I told her. "It's a beautiful car. I've always wanted one of those."
"Me too," she wrote.
At least we were talking and that's a start, I told myself. "You keep doing things like this Tom or Carlos, you'll get me hurt. Do you want me hurt?"
"Pain is okay. Part of the game," came the reply. Then, "You have not been hurt."
"What do you call having to spend all night tied in that tiny ball? That hurt!"
"Not hurt. I've done that many times. No harm."
"Maybe no harm but it could have been. How did you know that I could take such tight ropes all night? I could have had some problem and been powerless to do anything about it."
"Helpless good." She underlined that. "I know you can take it. You're like me."
"Yes, I'm like you. And I thank you for teaching me that I do like being tied up. And that there is so much to life, sexual life, that I never knew." I paused, trying to figure out how to put the next part. "But I'm worried that some day you'll get me into something that will harm me. Then what would you do? What will you do if I get killed?"
"Get new girl," came the reply immediately.
I felt a cold knot form in my stomach and my legs get a little weak. It really wouldn't bother her if I got killed because of her games. She'd just go out and get a new host to play with.
"That's not good," I said. "Not good at all. Look, Cindy, you've got a good thing going with me. We both love that car, so you know that I'll take care of it. Someone else might run it into the ground."
"I will make next girl take care of car."
I swallowed hard, and tried again. "And you've got a girl here who really does love being tied up just like you do. Why can't you restrict yourself to rope games and leave this heavy stuff alone?"
For a few seconds nothing happened, then I saw new words appearing on the pad. "I like more than being tied up. I like being hurt."
How are you going to argue with a masochist? "But I don't," I said.
"Don't you?" came the reply.
I swallowed again. She was too close to being right. I was attracted to some of the things we had done. Things more than just being tied up.
I tried again, "I don't think you'll find another girl who is as good a match as I am. I think you should try to protect me so you can have your fun for a long time."
What came onto the paper next scared me: "Many girls." It was followed a few seconds later by, "Wait until you see next game."
I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash can. Then I got dressed and went out to dinner.
I heard no more from Cindy during the week, nor did I make any attempt to talk to her. The thought of what might be coming up on Saturday scared me. There was a tiny bit of excitement, too. Some of the games Cindy had gotten me into were pretty incredible. But I got the impression that she was out to teach me a lesson, to show me that she would get us into any kind of heavy pain scene she wanted to.
So I made preparations. Trusting that Cindy couldn't do much during the week, I bought some more restraints. I hoped that she wasn't watching, and perhaps she couldn't watch during the week. I just didn't know, but she did nothing to foil my plans.
The next Saturday afternoon I set everything out and got ready. I had to visit three electronic stores before I found what I was looking for. A clerk told me that he could whip something up for me if I came back the next day. What he had was a small box made out of metal. An electrical wire came out of the back but there was nothing else save for the lid. He showed me how the lid was fitted with a spring so that it would pop open when a electrical thing was activated. I think he called it a solenoid or something. Anyway, it worked just as I wanted. There was an electrical timer inside, connected to that solenoid. All I had to do was put the keys in it and set the timer. When the lid was closed, it locked in place and couldn't be opened until the timer reached the set time. I tested it at home and it worked perfectly.
There was no way I could get the keys out until the time set on the inside timer. If I tried to get it to open by pulling out the plug, the timer would just stop. Then the only way I could get the thing to open would be to plug it back in and let the timer continue. If I left it unplugged, it would never open. The box was made of pretty solid metal. There was no way I would be able to get into it with my bare hands. I could spend hours bashing it with handcuffs or chains and still not get the box open. He had done a good job.
As I was paying for it, he asked me what I wanted it for. I was tempted to tell him the truth but instead gave him some story about wanting to make sure that my sister couldn't drive her car when she started drinking. Didn't make much sense to me, either, but he didn't press the issue.
I tested it a dozen times and it worked perfectly every time. With the keys locked inside that box, I figured I would be safe from Cindy's attempts to get me in trouble. The worst that could happen would be a power failure, and that would only extent the period I would have to spend all chained up.
I started half way through the afternoon on that Saturday. I could probably have waited until evening, but didn't want to take a chance. If she found me planning to thwart her, heaven only knows what she might have done to me.
I began by taking a shower. Then I laid out all the restraints I planned on using. Carefully I placed all the keys inside the box and set the timer for ten o'clock the next morning. I made sure that the box was plugged into the wall and then set it on the night stand. The phone was on the floor in the bathroom, well out of reach.
Step one was to gag myself. For that I had chosen a small rubber ball, not my used panties. At least I had better taste in gags that Tom. I had punched a hole through the ball and fitted a small chain through it. I placed the ball in my mouth. I could just close my teeth around it but it pressed my tongue down and prevented any speech. I locked the chain behind my head with a small padlock. Having practiced with that gag, I knew that I couldn't get it out of my mouth, even with my hands to help. The ball was locked in place and would stay there until the key unlocked the lock.
Step two was to chain my ankles together. Sitting on the bed with my legs straight out in front of me, I did that the same as I had done the previous Saturday, bent in half to reach my ankles with a small link chain but one thick enough so there was no way I could break it. I locked it snugly around both ankles. Also included in the lock was the end of a chain that passed over the end of the bed and down to the frame under the bed where it was locked. That would keep me from pulling my legs up.
Step three found me wiggling up until I was stretched out on the bed with the chain tugging on my ankles. Another chain came over the top of the bed from where it was locked to the frame below. I took that chain and wrapped a single loop around my neck. I locked that with another padlock. The loop wasn't as snug as that around my ankles, but there was no way it could be pulled off over my head.
With just those two steps, I was helpless. I could roll around and move my hands all I wanted, but could not get off the bed. I couldn't even sit up, I was held flat on my back. But that wasn't the end of my preparations.
I had placed another chain on the bed, locked underneath to the frame and simply passing across the middle of the bed from side to side. It passed under my back as I lay there. I took another small chain that I had measured carefully and placed it over my stomach. Each end hung down on my side to just almost touch the chain under my back. I had two padlocks and used them to secure each end to the chain under me. That would keep my middle secured in the middle of the bed. There would be no rolling over on my side, no sitting up, nothing.
The last step was to fit the pair of handcuffs on my wrists and click them down until they were snug against my flesh.
I know perhaps you're thinking that this was a clear case of overkill. Just a single chain on my ankle would be enough to keep me from leaving the apartment. But I wanted to take no chances. Cindy was clever. Very clever.
Besides, I like being tied up, remember? This was more fun. A part of me rationalized that perhaps Cindy would be content with the very restricted way I had secured myself and not get mad at me. It was, after all, a pretty good job of self-bondage with chains.
I reached up just to make sure that I could reach the box on the night stand. It was a bit of a strain but my fingers could touch it and, when the time came, pull it towards me. I had checked the positioning of my body many times to make sure that I wasn't out of reach of the box. Every was fine.
I had left a small light on the nightstand. It would act as a night light and a reading lamp. Piled next to my pillow were four or five books. I would have something to read and not get too bored as the long hours passed as slowly as I knew they would.
I could see the clock where I had moved it to the top of the dresser. It was several hours before the time Cindy usually put in her appearance. I sighed contentedly and began reading a book.
At seven o'clock I sensed Cindy's presence. I put down the book and held up the handcuffs before my eyes. Then I felt the chain around my middle. My hands went up to the chain around my neck and felt that nice, big padlock there. Very solid and secure. I wiggled my feet a bit to gauge how solidly they were chained.
Cindy contented herself with looking around. I was coming to figure that she could not only see with my eyes, but could tell what I was thinking to some extent. She looked at the box for a long time, and I just knew that she knew the keys were in it. And how it would defeat her attempts to break out the keys.
Cindy then expressed her anger. I was suddenly struggling against the chain as hard as I could. I tugged at the chain around my stomach and jerked my legs. I twisted my head until the chain was hurting my neck. I even tugged at the handcuffs and tried to slip my wrists out of the steel bracelets. But I had clicked them down pretty tight and they held my wrists imprisoned.
Finally she calmed down. In a final fit of anger, she took the books I had next to my head and threw them across the room. I sighed inwardly. It was to be a little more boring that I had hoped, but that was a minor battle. I figured I had still won the war.
For a while I simply lay there, waiting to see if she would try anything. Suddenly my hands reached up and picked up the box. For a long two seconds I held it off the night stand with both hands, as if I were about to throw it as far as I could. But then I put the box back down.
Cindy went away. I was getting more used to her being around and could sense better when she was around, and when she wasn't. Apparently she decided that trapping me on the bed wouldn't get her what she wanted. Actually, I had been afraid that she might do that just out of anger. Chained down the way I was and gagged, I would be spending a long time before anyone came into the apartment.
Before long I found myself wishing I had left a radio on or moved the TV into the bedroom so I could watch it. But the only sounds in my bedroom were the clinking of chains and a creak now and then from the bed.
I don't know when it was that I fell asleep, but the clock said one o'clock in the morning when I woke up. I was having some strange dreams and feeling very erotic. Then I realized that my hands were laying on my stomach and my fingers were stretched out to disappear into my pubic patch where they were teasing my clit. It felt good, to be honest, and I wasn't opposed to what Cindy was doing. At least I think it was her doing that. Wasn't really important.
The helpless condition of my body was, as it was becoming increasingly in my life, a stimulant to my sexual responses. I was very aware of the chains on me, of the way they held me in their steel grip, and that I was powerless. For nine more hours I would be a prisoner by my own hand and that was exciting.
Well, you can guess the next part. I masturbated myself into a pretty nice orgasm, arching my body up against the chains as it overwhelmed me. Then I floated a while on that high.
I awoke again to the feeling of fingers upon my sex and a growing heat in my loins. I glanced at the clock. Two o'clock. What was that old saying, when rape in inevitable, relax and enjoy it? Well, I'm sure that whoever said that never figured it would apply one day to a girl who was raping herself -- sort of. The orgasm was nice and I was grateful for it. But I was pretty tired and wanted to get some sleep.
The next time was at three o'clock, just like the three ghosts of A Christmas Carol. It took longer for my fingers to work me up to a climax, but they managed. When I woke up at four o'clock to find the same routine, I wanted to shout, "Enough already!" but could say nothing. So I mentally shouted it and hoped that Cindy heard. The fourth orgasm in an many hours was a bit strained but still very real.
Cindy tried again at five o'clock but the flesh can take only so much. She went away but not before waking me up again.
I was awake long before ten o'clock, worrying about some unpredicted failure of the timer but also congratulating myself on having won that battle. At two minutes after ten the lid popped open and I eagerly grabbed the keys. Ten minutes later I was standing by the bed, taking the gag out of my mouth. The gag had been the worst part because my jaw ached quite a bit. I couldn't close my mouth all the way because of the chain between my teeth, but that had been a small price to pay. If I hadn't included the gag, Cindy might have taken control, yelled until someone came and then tell them I was a victim of some really kinky burglar and they should hacksaw the chains off. I wouldn't have put that passed her.
I took a shower, then cooked myself a good breakfast. I was feeling fine. My sex was a little tired, but that was fine with me. At least I had enjoyed most of what made it so tired that morning.
It wasn't until early evening that Cindy returned.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - SENTENCED TO A LIFETIME ENSLAVEMENT
I guess I made a mistake in thinking that Cindy could take control on her own only on Saturday nights. Maybe it was simply easier for her to do it then. But whatever, it was a painful mistake. She must have been pissed off with me for keeping her from going out on the town. And I should have figured that a ghost would have the patience to wait until I wasn't so protected. Ghosts have all the time in the world, right?
I knew that I was in trouble when I suddenly found myself pulling off my shorts and blouse so fast that I tore one of my favorite blouses. Completely naked, I marched into the bedroom, kicked aside a pile of chains that got in my way, and headed to the closet. I grabbed that thin, emerald dress and pulled it on, almost tearing the seams in the process. I got the impression that Cindy was angry at me.
A pair of high heels and a small purse later I was heading towards the door. Suddenly I turned around and headed back to the bedroom. There I grabbed the pair of handcuffs and that chain and ball gag that I had made. Both went into my purse.
It was a pleasant night and I would have enjoyed the drive had I not been under Cindy's compulsion and afraid of what she was going to do. My 380SL purred along I-5, heading north towards Los Angeles.
Two hours later I was turning down a small street in Beverly Hills, an area that I had never been to before. The homes were all large and most were recessed from the street and hidden behind large fences or shrubs. I pulled into a driveway that headed towards a house mostly hidden behind trees. As I sat in the car in front of the house, I weighed my purse. Then I took the ball gag out of it but left the handcuffs. My high heels clicked and clacked on the flagstone pavement all the way up to the door.
I had to wait a minute before my pressing the button brought someone to the door. It was opened to reveal a short man dressed in casual slacks and a polo shirt. He was dark of features and a little on the fat side, like a man who had once been fit but gone to pot. He smiled at me, more of a leer, actually, showing perfect white teeth. I could see that his features were Arabic but had no way of telling which country he might have come from.
"May I help you," he said in English barely accented.
"I would like to talk to you, Mr. Jahid. May I come in?"
I... Well, Cindy, was using that husky voice that just oozes sex and makes men's penises stand up, even over the phone. He stepped aside and waved his hand graciously. I entered then followed him to a lounge only slightly smaller than a football field.
"A drink, Miss? No? Then please sit down." He paused while I sat, mostly so he could enjoy the show of thigh as my dress rode up. I did nothing to push it back down. "So, what shall we talk about?"
"I am a friend of Cindy's." He didn't seem to recognize the name, so I added, "Cindy Sterling. You met her through Dean Mattson. He brought her to one of your parties."
"Dean. Ah, yes, a pretty young blonde. Loved being tied up, if I recall."
"You recall correctly. Well, she told me that you could get me a job in your home country. A very good paying job doing some things I like to do anyway." I was shifting my legs around to give him a better view, and even leaning forward slightly so he could see most of my breasts.
"Perhaps I can," he said, noncommittally. "What kind of things do you like to do?" He was smiling like a cat that just cornered a mouse.
I stood up and took the handcuffs out of my purse. Without a word, I locked them on my wrists behind my back. Then I took a pose with legs spread as wide as my dress would allow. "I love, just love to be tied up," I purred. "And all that goes with it." I shifted my stance so that I was in a fashion model's pose. "I love a spanking. I dig it when men get rough with me. Teeth marks and bruises on my breasts turn me on," I lied. I turned slightly so he could see the handcuffs as well as a good profile. "I can even be whipped." I could see this was having an effect on this man. "If the price is right," I added.
What the hell was Cindy getting me into? It sounded like she was selling my/herself like the prostitute she used to be except for that job in a foreign land bit.
"If you want to check my equipment, just take this dress off. I'm good, damned good."
"I'm sure you are, Miss...."
"My name is Nancy. There is a zipper in back...." I turned my back to him.
His hand was at the zipper a second later. When the sleeveless dress was laying on the carpet around my feet, I turned back to him. His eyes were devouring my body. "Your equipment is of the finest quality," he agreed. "I'm sure that I can find employment for you." I didn't like the way he paused a split second before the word, "employment."
"Good. I would like some adventure. And could use the money."
"I'm sure I can satisfy you," he said. "As to the money, I mean. There are men in my country who would very much appreciate a woman of your obvious talents." He studied my body a while longer before adding, with a sigh, "I assume you have the key for those handcuffs?"
"No. But I assume that you have one around here. Maybe down in the special room you have in the basement? Cindy said that you had a pretty well equipped special room."
"Ah, yes. I'm sure that I do have a key someplace. But first, you do understand that the men I'm talking about are connoisseurs. They would expect the highest quality in both appearance and performance. I could not present them with an amateur...."
"You wish a demonstration?" I stepped out of the dress and up to him. The tips of my nipples were almost touching his shirt front. "I can take the tightest, most severe bondage you can do to me," I whispered into his face. "And love it... You wish to test me? Go ahead. You wish to test that I am serious about the rough handling? About the pain? Test me.
What man can refuse such an offer? He was practically drooling on my breasts.
"But of course, Miss Nancy. The special room is this way...." He took my arm with one hand to guide me alone towards this private torture chamber.
"One other thing," I said as we walked along a hallway. "My car is parked out in front. If I accept employment and have to leave the country immediately, would you please sell it for me? The pink slip is in the glove box, already signed off. Sell it to some pretty young girl. I'd like that."
"Of course, Miss Nancy. I shall be happy to dispose of your automobile."
I suddenly saw what Cindy was getting me into, and wanted to scream. This guy wasn't an employment agency, it was some kind of white slaver and I was going to be shipped off to some distant land where I would disappear forever. Probably into a harem or worse. The worse could well be a brothel where the house prostitutes were virtual prisoners, and often rented out to sadist men who wish to whip them before having sex. And again afterwards.
Everything was falling into place. Cindy knew about his man and his connections for getting rid of pretty young girls. She intended to punish me for denying her a little fun on Saturday night by selling me into a lifetime of slavery. She, on the other hand, planned to have her car sold to some other young girl with whom she would continue her haunting just as she had done with me. It would work out fine for her. I get punished. She gets a new host. Even Jahid came out ahead, having been made a present of a fine, sexy girl, for which he will get a good price.
Like I said, I wanted to scream. But Cindy was still driving.
The special room was nothing short of a dungeon. Perhaps it had originally been a basement playroom with nothing more serious than a pool table, but now it held a collection of torture devices that would please the Spanish Inquisition. There were stocks, pillories, whipping posts, and a few other things I didn't know the purpose of. And there were no windows, only solid walls.
There was also already an occupant in that dungeon. Bound to a stout wooden post in one comer was a teenage girl, fully naked and looking like she was in some degree of pain. She had a nice figure and red hair. Her head had been hung down when we first came in, but she lifted it when she heard us. There were tear stains down her cheeks and I could see the reason for them in the fresh whip marks crisscrossing her firm young breasts. She had been tied to the post with her arms behind the wood and her legs tied together. That left her bottom protected against the wood but her breasts very available as a target for the whip.
"Sorry if I'm disturbing something," I said.
"No need to apologize. I was simply... Ah, testing this young girl. She also wishes to seek employment in my country."
The girl's eyes widened. "He's lying!" she cried. "I'm being held a prison against my will. He's torturing me!"
As she gave voice to her protests, Jahid was moving across the room. Quickly he grabbed what looked like a pair of panties off the floor and shoved them into her mouth. From a small nearby table he picked up a roll of wide black tape, which he then used to seal the girl's mouth, including wrapping three full turns of the tape around her head and the post. Not only did he manager to gag her, he also now had her head rigidly held in place against the post.
"I am very sorry about that one," he said smoothly as he came back to me. "She is very into her... ah, acting lessons. Some of the men I know like a girl to pretend that she is being held captive against her will. You know how it is."
"I know."
I did? It seemed to me much more likely that the teenager was really a captive. She was cute with freckles on her upturned nose and pert breasts that almost pointed upward like her nose. He might have been saying it was acting, but her eyes were telling me a different story.
But Cindy ignored the other girl. Instead she made me walk over to a table on which were dozens of pieces of rope. "I see you have some equipment of your own," I heard myself saying. "If you'll take off these handcuffs, you can test me."
Jahid was just returning from locking the dungeon door, probably a precaution he always did when a slavegirl was going to be untied, or unlocked, in this case. It was hard to think of that redhead teenager or what I was to become as anything else but slavegirls. It fitted so well with Mr. Jahid's background.
He produced a key and unlocked the metal from around my wrists. If it had been me in control, I would have made a dash for the door, locked or not. But Cindy was still driving and I stood there, displaying my nudity proudly.
It took ten minutes, or maybe fifteen, before he had me tied just as he wanted. He tied slowly and carefully. My arms were behind me with the elbows together, as tightly as I had ever felt them. My legs were tied together at the ankles, then again above and below my knees. Those ropes were also put on as tightly as he could and I could see them really indenting the flesh just above my knees.
He had also tied a rope to that around my wrists and passed that between my legs before he tied my legs. That rope went up in front and then around my waist several times. Then it went back down between my legs and was tied to my wrists. The effect was to hold my arms down because when I tired to lift my arms, that rope between my legs would cut into my pussy.
He then picked me up from where I was sitting on a table and carried me, with some effort, over to a wall only a few feet from the post with the teenager attached. He set me down on my feet and helped me get my balance. Then he fetched another length of rope and tied the end to my elbows. Getting a chair, he stood on it to pass the rope through a ring secured to the ceiling. Then the rope came back down to my elbows. He pulled the rope until I could feel my elbows being lifted up a bit, then tied some knots.
The last rope was used as he tied one end to the ropes around my ankles. The chair helped him to pass the rope through a second ring about three feet from the first one. He took the chair away and stood there holding the end of the rope connected through the ring to my ankles. He was smiling in a way that I didn't like.
"If you accept employment in my country, you will find some men who enjoy tying a girl in ways that are not pleasant. This will show you what I mean. Are you ready?"
"Do your worst," I told him with a smile.
He pulled on the rope in his hands. I felt it tighten and the pressure on my ankles. That pressure increased as he pulled more until I felt my feet moving backwards. Suddenly I was on my toes and could see my bleak future. When he pulled my feet totally out from under me, I would be hanging mainly by the rope tied around my elbows.
He pulled and my feet slid out. He then quickly pulled until my legs were bent doubled behind me, my feet being about the level of my bottom. Then he tied the rope to my ankles to hold them like that.
But the main problem was not my ankles, it was that most of my weight being held up by the ropes around my elbows. My elbows tried to go up but there was the rope between my legs holding my hands down. And that was what hurt. Two strands of clothesline were digging into my poor pussy with most of my weight to force it deeply into my flesh. I groaned. It wasn't very comfortable to say the least.
For a while he simply let me hang, probably to get used to the position. And it took some getting used to. Hanging by my elbows and ankles was something different. I could bend my waist but that changed little. The stress on my shoulders was going to become a real pain, and the ropes digging into my pussy already were.
The funny part was that, if I had not been in immediate fear of being sold into slavery forever, I might have enjoyed that position. It did make a girl feel very helpless, and, since you know the truth, I'll admit I was turned on by that feeling. If it had been under different circumstances... Like if Brian were the one who had tied me that way... But I did not see any playful enjoyment in this man's eyes, only the desire to hurt all girls, and this one right now.
"Are you enjoying this?" he asked. "You did say that you love such treatment."
"I'm... enjoying... this," I said through clenched teeth. "But you could have tied me a little tighter."
What the hell was Cindy trying to do to me? She had already gotten me into a pretty damned painful position. Was she trying to get him to tighten the ropes?
"Perhaps. But this will do." He grinned. "Perhaps you think you can escape?"
I struggled a bit, mostly for show because I knew full well that I couldn't get those ropes off. I wiggled quite a bit, which didn't do much towards escaping but displayed my body in a way that was sure to excite any red-blooded male.
Finally I stopped. Cindy may not have minded, but the struggling was adding pain to my poor pussy as I fought the ropes. I was glad when she ceased the effort.
"Many of the men in my country enjoy whipping a girl's body," I heard him say. I turned my head to see him standing there with a whip in his hand. "It helps remind a girl of her proper status in life."
Yeah, as a slavegirl, I thought. Aloud I said, "You are so masterful... Master." Damn that Cindy.
He grinned. "I see fresh and faded whip marks on your so round bottom. You are not unused to the kiss of leather."
"I told you I liked this stuff."
"So we shall see."
He whipped my ass.
It sound so simple put that way. Just an act performed, a task completed. But I could tell you of each agonizing stroke from that whip, of each impact of leather thong against defenseless girl flesh, and of a fresh burst of pain that each brought. I could tell you of how I counted each stroke, hoping that he would stop at one of the magic numbers so loved by humans. But he did not stop at five. Nor at ten. Ten would have been a good number to stop at. Or twelve. Twelve would have been good, an even dozen. But he didn't stop there. At fifteen I feared it would go on to twenty. At twenty I feared it would never end.
The whipping of my bottom ceased at the count of twenty-three painful strokes. I don't now why twenty- three. It wasn't even a full two dozen. Perhaps he miscounted and meant to give me two dozen. I didn't ask.
Around the fourth one I lost all resolve and screamed. Cindy couldn't keep us from giving vocal release to the agony inside. Each fresh stroke brought froth a fresh scream of pain.
I had been whipped a few times by then. And each whipping had seemed to be the worst. Perhaps this one was, indeed, the worst. If you could find a way to measure the pain so you could compare. It's hard to compare whippings by memory. The one currently happening to you always seems the worst.
I hung there, bottom scolded and, I feared, ripped to pieces. My head hung down, and tears stained the floor of his dungeon, I'm sure not for the first time.
"You know, Miss Nancy," he began like a college profession lecturing to students, "that many man like to whip a girl's breasts. There is something so wonderful about seeing the look in a girl's eyes when she knows that her breasts are about to be whipped."
I'm sure that look was in my eyes.
He came around to stand beside me. In his hands was a different whip, smaller but still wicked looking. The thong at the end was very slender.
"This whip is made for a woman's breasts. It will sting very much but not cut the flesh. That is good. The whipping can go on for a long time. And you can be whipped again very soon. Not like with a bigger whip." He paused for a second. "One time," he continued, "I saw a girl whipped across the breasts with a whip made for cutting a man's back. She had done something to displease her master and was being punished. The whip had a tiny piece of metal woven into the tip. It cut the flesh with every stroke. She had no breasts when the whipping was finished."
I gulped and felt myself go weak at the thought.
"But I shall not whip you in that manner," he said cheerfully. "You will scream and hurt but your so lovely breasts will be intact when I am finished."
He was quite right. That small whip did sting, and it was a terrible thing to have your breasts whipped. If you're not a girl, perhaps you have trouble understanding the psychological aspect of it. Try thinking about your penis being whipped...
I got only four or five strokes on each breasts but it was enough to reducing me to crying again. And with each stroke I screamed. My breasts seemed on fire, and, no matter what he said, the flesh of my breasts felt like it was being cut to ribbons.
I could look down and see red lines across my breasts but the skin was uncut. I wondered how Cindy could take this and not be begging for mercy. I would have been. Long before that point.
Silence, save for my sobbing, followed the whipping of my breasts and I hoped that the ordeal was over. Suddenly there was a burst of pain in the bottom of my feet and I was screaming again.
I had never been whipped on the bottom of my feet and it hurt something terrible, more than I can describe. It is amazing how many nerves there are in the bottom of your feet, how sensitive that place is to pain. A dozen strokes across the soft middle of my soles had me screaming and jerking around at the end of my tethers. It must have been quite a show.
After a while I realized that the pain had stopped coming and only the burning aftermath remained. I lifted my head and opened teary eyes. Mr. Jahid was there. He had untied the legs of the teenager girl but left her arms bound behind the post, along with her head taped to it. His pants were gathered around his ankles where he had dropped them. Her legs were spread wide and wrapped around his hips. I could not see directly, but it was pretty obvious that his penis was buried deeply into her young vagina. He began pumping his hips against her body, jarring her with each pump, making her breasts bounce.
I watched with a terrible fascination as that man raped his captive. That was the only word for it: rape. I was sure she was a captive, probably kidnapped. And I was sure that she wasn't a willing party to this act of what should have been lovemaking. Her eyes were closed and she was frowning very hard.
Eventually he grunted and I knew that his time had come. A minute later he unwrapped her legs from around his hips. "Ah, Miss Nancy, I see you were watching." He pulled up his pants. "You were so beautiful as you withered and screamed that I... Well, I had to do something. And your legs... You were not really available...." I lowered my head again. It was easier to let myself hang, a package of aches and pains that was once a girl.
Much later I looked up and the girl was gone. I doubted that she was set free, more likely she was someplace else, like a cell or cage where she could be safely locked up for the night. Or maybe she was hanging in painful suspension as I was.
And I was still hanging, which was not very comfortable, and apparently alone. I hung that way all night. In the morning my pussy and arms were totally numb. I feared that they were damaged permanently for I could not move my hands. But ten minutes after I was let down, the feeling began to slowly come to my arms and hands. And then I was moaning loudly with the pain of returning circulation. Eventually I could move my fingers again with no apparently harm done. I was lucky.
I don't recommend hanging by your elbows all night.
Mr. Jahid watched the agony on my face as my hands came back to life, an amused little smile on his face. That pain can be worse than the pain of hanging there. As I suffered, he outlined my future.
"I have made some phone calls," he began. "I have a buyer for you. He would like immediate delivery."
"What happened to the fiction of my being employed?" I asked. I'm not sure if it was Cindy or me asking.
"Ah, Miss Nancy, it is time to drop that fiction. I will admit that I do not understand why you have come to me, asking, as it were, to be enslaved. Surely Cindy told you that I am in the business of procuring young American girls for my customers in the Middle East. To put it quite simply, I kidnap them then sell them. Sometimes it's to a private harem, sometimes to a brothel. It matters little to me. An American girl is highly prized over there. They all disappear and are never seen again."
He paused to roughly turn me around and lock handcuffs on my wrists behind me. I think there were the same handcuffs I brought with me.
"You will be cleaned and given a meal. Then I will package you for shipment. Within forty-eight hours you will be at your new home." He grinned. "I hope you enjoy your new life."
I wanted to protest, tell him that the police knew I was there and would be coming any second, anything to make him stop his plans. But Cindy must have been in control. I could feel her snickering in the background someplace.
By cleaning, he meant that I would be stood up in a shower stall and hosed down with cold water. The meal was good food but had to be eaten doggie style while kneeling down. Hands locked behind your back make it hard to eat normally.
Packaging was an experience. Apparently he had some kind of cargo jet that he regularly flew between LA and the Middle East with legitimate cargo. Now and then an extra crate was included, one that the custom officials were not to see. Inside that crate was a living, breathing, and quite helpless young girl destined for a life of sexual abuse and slavery.
The handcuffs were taken off and replaced with rope. My elbows were lashed together with viciously tight, thin ropes. "All the better to control you," explained Jahid. "A girl who is in pain from roped elbows is more docile. And after twenty-four hours of such restraints, she is very docile. Takes the fight out of her." He laughed. Then he tied my wrists together.
The crate was padded, mostly for soundproofing, but also to prevent the girl inside from knocking on the wooden sides. Not that she would be allowed enough freedom to knock on anything. My legs were tied together. I was gagged with a rubber wad and leather strap and steel thing that filled my mouth and strapped very tightly around my head. When it was in place, the only noise I could make was what came through my nose.
I was then put into the crate, kneeling first then bent over until my chin was down near my knees. It reminded me of the way Tom had bound me on the chair in my own bedroom. The major difference was that this time I was not tied in a ball, but held in it by the padding pressing tightly around me. With the lid closed and nailed shut, I was squashed into that a ball and could do nothing about it. Between the ropes and the crate, I couldn't move at all.
Just before I was pushed down into the crate, I noticed the writing on the side of the lid. "Play Ground Equipment," it read.
There was air holes near my head but no light came in. For a long time I knelt there. Then there were sounds that came faintly through the padding and movement of my wooden prison. Sometimes I sat still, sometimes my crate was moved. I assumed that I was being put into some kind of car or truck for shipment to the airport. And then it would onto a plane and a long trip far away from everything I called home.
This could have been the end of my story -- unless you would like to read 'The Adventures of a Slavegirl." But that was not what happened. A long time passed. Then there was almost constant small movements and I figured I was being driven to the airport.
Suddenly there was a sharp jar, and my crate was tossed around like a child's block in a toy chest. When things settled down, I was laying on my side and wondering what was happening.
For a long time nothing happened. Faint sounds came to me but I couldn't tell what was happening. After an hour or more, I suddenly felt my crate being tilted up on one edge. Some more movement, sort of like when I was being put in the truck. Then suddenly I heard a distant voice say, "Damn!" and I was falling. It was a short trip and ended with a hard jar.
But amazing part was that the impact of my crate hitting pavement split the wooden box apart at the seams. Daylight came into my prison. I began making as much noise as I could.
A minute later hands tore apart the crate and ripped the lid off. Suddenly I was blinking up at the bright sunlight and several men standing around over me. "Hot damn!" said one of them.
I could see a truck turned on its side with the back doors open. A smashed car in front of it told the story of a traffic accident. One of the men standing over my naked and very helpless form was a police man. I began weeping with joy. Then I passed out.
CHAPTER TWELVE - SOMETHING HAS TO BE DONE
I'll make a long story short. The truck carrying me to the airport had crashed. The driver was hurt. When they were cleaning up the accident, my crate was accidentally dropped and split open. Heaven only know how long it would have been before I would be discovered had the crate not broken open. I might had rested in a warehouse somewhere for days, maybe weeks.
The police were interested in why a naked girl was being transported in such a manner. I told them that I was the victim of a sorority initiation. My sorority sisters had stripped me naked bound me in that crate. Then they called a delivery company and had me taken across town. At the other end, another delivery company would have picked my up and brought me back to the sorority. It was all a harmless prank. I don't think they believed me. Apparently LA police aren't as easily fooled as rustic teenagers.
The whip marks were the hardest to explain away. I had to include an initiation whipping with a belt. Then I told them that it really looked worse that it felt (lying through my teeth), and they it wasn't really important.
I don't thing they believed that, either. But they couldn't figure out a charge to hold me on. True I was naked on a public street. But that had happened only after they broke open my crate, so I hadn't done it willing. And I wouldn't tell them which sorority had done these terrible things to me. Since I told them that I had allowed myself to be whipped and bound up and had agreed to being shipped across town, there was no law broken anyway. They didn't like it, but they had to let me go.
I was given clothes and driven back to where I told them my car had been left. It was right in front of Jahid's estate but I didn't say anything about that. I thanked them for the clothes and drove off as quickly as I could.
If one of them wished to pursue it, he could have proven that I wasn't in any sorority, or any college, for that matter. But since it appeared that no law had been broken, no one pursued it.
And you might wonder why I didn't tell them the truth and have the pleasure of seeing Jahid hauled off to jail in handcuffs? For one thing, I thought of him as a businessman, providing merchandise for those who could pay the undoubtedly large amounts required. It hadn't been his fault, but Cindy's.
I also didn't want to get involved in a big police investigation. But as I drove I began thinking about that redheaded teenager I had seen getting the shaft in Jahid's dungeon. I pulled off the freeway and used a public phone to call the Beverly Hills Police. I told them that I had seen a girl kidnapped and taken to Jahid's house. I told them to check out the place carefully as there was a hidden room in the basement. I also told them to hurry because the girl might be harmed. I figured that with me not making my plane trip to Arabia, he might just pack up and send the teenage girl. To their questions about who I was, I made up a name and address.
I felt better as I got back on the freeway, hoping that they would rescue the teenage girl. I wouldn't have done it had there not been another prisoner and potential slavegirl. It just wasn't fair to leave her to a terrible fate.
It was nearly Monday evening when I got back to my apartment. I had a meal, a shower, and went to bed. I was tired, having not gotten much sleep the night before while hanging in rope in Jahid's dungeon. But before I fell asleep, I did some serious thinking.
The next day I set out to implement a plan. My bottom was pretty sore and there were some marks across my breasts that made me wince when I looked at myself in the mirror. I hope that Cindy was satisfied and wouldn't come around again until Saturday. I called in to my company and told them I was sick and would be out for a few days. My boss didn't like that, but I didn't care. This was more important.
The next stop was half a mile from my house at a church. The Father didn't believe my story at first but eventually I convinced him that I was sincere. I simply told him the truth. My car was haunted and could he please exorcise it. I did fail to mention the nature of the haunting, I didn't want to shock him out of his black suit and white collar. I simply told him that some things had been flying around my apartment, I felt dread and cold whenever I use the car, and that the prior owner had admitted it was haunted. Actually, priests are quick to believe in ghosts, I found out. They are believers to begin with.
The exorcism consisted of a ritual prayer and sprinkling my shinny red car with holy water. I had expected something a little more dramatic, like the car levitating off the pavement and shaking all over, or talking in tongues. It just sat there. I couldn't sense Cindy and could only hope that it had worked.
I thanked the priest, made a contribution to the collection box, and went back home.
I didn't go to work that day, nor the next. I spent a lot of my time at the library, reading about ghosts. Most of the books on that subject were guessing or sensationalism. A few seemed to be reporting what was happening to me. But most could suggest only a formal exorcism as a solution to my problem. But there was one book that did suggest another way...
Come Saturday night I was sitting in my bedroom, dressed in my usual jeans and blouse and sensible flat shoes. The chains and locks and sexy clothing were all put away in the closet. I had every belief that Cindy would put in an appearance. That exorcism had gone a little too smoothly for me to believe that it had gotten rid of Cindy. I knew that she would put up more of a fight, if not for control of me, than for the car she loved even more than I did.
Suddenly I was getting up and going to the closet. The clothes came off and my hands were taking my black velvet dress out of the closet. As I slipped into it, I tried to keep my mind blank, to give every appearance of a girl who knew when she was beaten and had given up. With the dress and high heels on, I left the apartment.
Then came the hard part. I had trouble keeping my little secret out of mind. It proved impossible, but when I came up to the empty carport, Cindy was surprised. Then I said, "I've put the car into a garage to protect it from the elements," and hoped she could not read my mind enough to know that was only half the truth.
Suddenly I turned and was marching towards the row of garages that came with the more expensive apartments. I had begged the use of one of the garages from a man I knew, promising to go out with him if I could borrow his garage for one day. He probably wondered what the hell I wanted with a garage but let me have it.
The door opened and there was the little beauty, all shinny and sleek. I went to the door and got in, feeling a twinge of pain at the soreness still remaining in my bottom even after half a week from Jahid's whip.
When the key turned, the engine whirled and nothing happened, I could sense Cindy' frowning. If ghosts can frown. She tried to start the engine for a minute then I could sense her probing my mind. I let her find out the truth, because it didn't matter then. "Yes, I took out all the spark plugs. This car isn't going anywhere right now."
My hand banged on the steering wheel in anger. Just as I was about to get out and go for a phone or something, the garage door closed. Just inside the door was a man standing there. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad of shoulder. He wore dark purple robes with blood red inserts running from collar to hem. He wore a van Dyke beard and had long black hair. But what was most striking about him was his eyes. They were black, black as the darkest night, yet they glowed with power.
"Yes, Cindy, more of my doing," I said. "This is Master Sean Stryker. He's a priest in the American Witchcraft Church."
I trembled with anger then that husky voice came from my own lips. "You will pay for this. I laughed at your pitiful exorcism from that priest. He had no power. I will laugh at this man, too. And then I will see you punished for this. You think being sold into a lifetime of slavery was terrible, wait until you see what I have for you next!"
I was scared. If I had guessed wrong, I was going to suffer.
Suddenly my right hand shot up and turned towards Sean with the palm flat and pointed towards him. A strange red beam shot out of my palm, straight at his face!
It did not seem that he move but suddenly his hand was before his face, palm turned outward, blocking that red light. A blue beam began to pour out of his hand, pushing that red beam back until the intersection was half way between the two of us. The place where they met was sparkling with purple flashes and a silent but violent glow of some unknown power clashing with power.
I was amazed. This was something I knew nothing about. The book had simply said that this man's church knew more about the other side than the more conventional churches did. So I had gone to them and asked for help.
For long seconds the struggle continued with neither of them seeming to gain the advantage. Suddenly it broke off, both of us lowering our hands at the same time. Immediately Sean lifted both hands to the level of his head and began chanting in some ancient language.
I found myself withering in agony. I could feel something trying to force me out of the car. Or Cindy. Or both of us. It was hard to separate us sometimes. But Cindy fought back. Instead of getting out of the car, I found myself banging my head against the steering wheel.
Sean broke off, sensing that she could do serious harm to me. Instead he placed both hands on the hood of the car and began a different chant. The whole car began to glow with a bluish light.
I don't know what would have happened if his had been able to finish his chant. My body went rigid and my head tilted back against the headrest. Incredible as it may sound, the whole car began to shake, then lift off the ground. At three feet off the concrete, the car moved forward suddenly and crashed into the door. The wooden door gave way and I saw Sean thrown aside as the 380SL moved out of the garage. It came to a halt and settled down to the pavement a dozen feet beyond the door. The glow faded away. I got out of the car, suddenly able to command my own body. I ran to Sean. He was stunned but unhurt. I could sense Cindy was gone but somehow I doubted that it was permanent.
Sean helped me put the spark plugs back in, and I drove the car back to my usual parking slot. Sean came into my apartment to rest a bit, he was pretty shaken up. And drained.
Later, after Sean had left and I had time to think about what had happened, I realized that it had been a draw. Both Sean and Cindy had shot their best shots and the results was only an exhausted AWC priest, an exhausted ghost, and one ruined garage door for which I was going to have to pay.
It wasn't until Sunday afternoon that Cindy came back. I found myself getting up from the couch where I had been watching TV and going into the bedroom. As I was reaching for that tiny string bikini, I said to myself, "Cindy, we have to talk."
My hand paused a second before picking up the bikini. I walked over to the bed and began taking off my clothes.
"Cindy, I'll just find another priest. Or another church. Maybe Sean will try again. I'll keep trying until I exorcise you from that car. And from my life."
I paused as I was slipping down my panties. "I will make you very sorry if you do that," I said in a husky voice.
"And I will keep trying. You didn't like that, did you?"
"It drained me," Cindy admitted. "It was painful."
"And getting my bottom whipped isn't?" I asked.
"Different pain."
"Cindy," I tried again, "what will it take for you to leave me alone?"
I put on the bikini in silence. I knew that she could make me go out and do anything, even get me killed. But I was gambling that she didn't want that any more than I did. Not really. I stood before the mirror, looking at my fine figure.
"If I promise not to hurt you, will you let me take over every Saturday night?" she asked.
"No, Cindy. I want to live my own life, including every Saturday night. Besides, I could never be sure that you wouldn't try something really serious again. Like with Carlos? Or Jahid? He was going to ship me off to a harem but for that traffic accident."
"I'm sorry." Somehow I believed her.
"Then we should sit down and talk," I said.
"May I tie us up?" she asked. "It would feel good."
I laughed. "We do have a lot in common. Yes, you have my permission to tie us up."
A little later I was laying on the bed, quite helpless and certain to stay that way for the rest of the day and all night. My legs were tied together and then down to the bottom of the bed. My neck was encircled by a collar and chained to the top of the bed. My hands were locked in handcuffs, and a chain around my middle held me down to the bed. Cindy must have liked the way I did myself up, because this was virtually the same. Except for the gag, of course. And the replacement of ropes for chains on my legs.
The box with the timer sat on the night stand. There were no books on the bed. Cindy preferred that I not be distracted by reading during the long hours ahead.
"This is better," said my husky voice. "Now we can talk."
"The first thing," I began, "is that I do not want to be haunted any more. I want to be in control of my life."
"But I want to play the games... I want to be tied, to be punished...."
"Cindy, I like being tied, too. And I thank you for showing me how exciting that can be. But as to being punished, I think you and I are into that in vastly different degrees."
My hand went up and pinched my left nipple.
"Cindy!" I said sharply. "You want to see that priest again?"
"Sorry." The hand went away from my breast.
It took the better part of the evening but we came to a compromise.
* * *
"I'm sure you'll be happy with this car," I said as I handed over the pink slip. "It's a beautiful sports car."
"I'm sure I will be happy," said the young woman sitting across from me.
She was very beautiful in an exotic way. Dark eyes with shinny jet black hair hanging almost down to her waist. A strong nose and firm lips that I longed to kiss. Some of Cindy's lesbian tastes must have been rubbing off on me.
And most important of all, Cindy approved of her. This was the twentieth person to come to look at the 380SL advertised cheaply in the newspaper. All the others had found a car that ran rough, wouldn't start or that they simply were afraid to get into. Cindy's way of rejecting them. This girl found the car a dream to drive and purring perfectly for her.
"I really don't know why you're selling it so cheaply," she said as she handed over the check.
"I'm doing it as a favor for a friend," I said with a smile.
All the paper work completed and the keys turned over, I accompanied her to the car. I could tell that she really loved it by the look in her eyes. I had the same look when I first saw that red 380SL. Before she could start it up, I asked her a question that had been on my mind, "Have you ever been tied up?"
She gave me a funny look then a small laugh. "Yes, actually, my boyfriend loves to tie me up when we make love. But how did you know that?"
"Just a guess," I said, looking down at her centerfold model's body. "Just a guess."
I waved as she left and felt truly free for the first time in weeks.
EPILOGUE
Brian answered the knock on his door the next Saturday night to find me standing here. The pause before he could speak might have been because I was completely naked and my hands were joined behind my back with a pair of handcuffs.
"Won't you come in," he managed.
"You'll have to carry me," I told him with a smile. "My ankles are shackled, as you can see."
He looked down at the pair of handcuffs on my ankles and laughed. "Yes, so I see."
Brian carried me into the front room and placed me on the couch. He sat beside me. "So... What brings you here?" he asked, innocently.
"Oh, Brian, do you think you could love me?" I blurted right out. Then cursed myself for being a stupid girl. You don't just come out and ask a man to love you.
He paused and looked serious. For a second I feared that he was going to kick me out. And I had left the handcuff keys at home! My clothes were outside under a bush.
"I have been doing a lot of thinking about you since we were together. Can't seem to get you out of my mind," she said. You do know that the phone number you gave me is a dry cleaners?"
"I had to lie about that. I'll explain, but it's a long story and I don't want to go into it right now. Oh, Brian, I loved that time I spent with you. You treated me just right, firm but not cruel. I've been doing a lot of thinking about you, too." I paused to project my breasts a bit more towards him. "Brian, I want to be with you. If it's just for an occasional day and night, then that's fine. But please don't send me away." I paused there to try and read the expression in his eyes.
"You'll get arrested if you leave here like that," he said.
"Brian, please take me. Tie me up anyway you wish. Keep me tied up all weekend, I'll love it. Punish me if you think I deserve it. I will take any kind of punishment you want to give me. Oh, Brian, please! Tie me up! Spank me! Screw me! Make me serve you. Whip me! Fuck me until my brains explode!"
He silenced my demands with a gentle kiss. I was filled with desire and between my legs raged a fire only he could quench, but I held back the passion and kissed back very gently.
"You may stay here. I would like to have a live-in slavegirl. Who knows, perhaps we'll even become friends!" He was trying to be serious but his eyes were smiling at me.
"Oh, Brian!" I cried. "Please promise that I'll be tied as tightly as you can all weekend. Please?"
"Consider it done."
I kissed him then with all the passion in my body, my lips locking on his and my tongue pushing into his mouth. I groaned as his hand cupped my breast and squeezed hard enough to tell me that I was being a silly slavegirl.
"And consider it a promise that you'll be punished," he said when we broke.
"Yes, Master," I purred. "But what for?"
"Giving the wrong phone number, for one thing. Locking yourself in handcuffs without my permission, for another. I'll think of others."
"Yes, Master," said. And meant it with all my being. Brian picked me easily up and carried me towards the bedroom. On the way, I brought up the only loose end in my life.
"Master? Would you grant me one little favor," I asked humbly.
"And what is that, lowly slave?"
"Would you buy me a new 560SL? A bright red one? I had to get rid of my other one."
He paused for a second, then laughed loudly. "Okay, okay! That's what you want, that's what you'll get." He threw me on the bed where I bounced a couple times. "Satisfied?" he asked.
"Not yet," I purred, "but I'm sure you'll take care of that in a few minutes."
